But what shelter lay ahead for her? A dungeon? She forced away fresh tears, willing herself not to cry. That would not help her either. Nor would reliving futilely those moments when she and Ronan had seemed so close to escaping the settlement, so close but for Gerard de Barry—
“You wretched Irish bitch. I should thank you for sparing me having to find some way to be rid of you—a task you’ve accomplished quite delightfully on your own.”
Rid of her? Maire stared into Adele’s cold blue eyes, her heart pounding and her hands growing clammy as much that the ruthless woman had fallen back to ride alongside her as at what she’d just said. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, did Adele know of Duncan’s plans for her? Mayhap that he intended to drag her to the dungeon as soon as they arrived at the castle and then leave her there to rot?
“I think the reward Duncan will win when he captures and hangs your rebel brothers will more than make a suitable wedding gift for the Norman bride I intend to help him find, don’t you?”
Adele spurred her lively dappled gray forward before Maire could summon a reply, even though she truly had none. To hear what Adele had said of her brothers was horrible enough. But to think of Duncan taking another for his wife made Maire’s throat constrict so painfully she doubted she could have spoken. Had he already said that he planned to do so to Adele? Could love voiced so fiercely last night have disappeared altogether? Ah, God, she was such a fool!
She could not count the lies she had told him, and even without that there was the deep-seated malice he bore toward Ronan. That she’d come so close the other day to revealing the truth about her clan made her believe now she must be mad to have hoped the barriers between them could be conquered. She had no hope left!
“Bring the prisoner forward!”
Maire paled, her gaze flying to the three O’Melaghlins before she realized with a start when one of the guards grabbed the reins from her hand that the outcry had been meant for her.
Her heart leaping to her throat, she saw that Duncan conferred ahead with a cluster of his knights near the gatehouse, where a drawbridge was being lowered. Her approach scarcely drew a glance from him. Only when the same guard yanked her mount to a stop not far from Duncan’s did he finally meet her eyes, his expression so hard, so cold that she knew then he must truly hate her. Though he spoke to the man still holding the reins, his intense gaze never left her face.
“Escort her into the keep—my private quarters. See that she remains well guarded.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell Edward de Valognes that he remains in command until I return—”
“God’s breath, Baron, you’ve barely arrived and now you leave us?”
Maire’s gaze flew to the swarthy knight who’d called down to them from the top of the gatehouse, and she saw then that a host of men-at-arms lined the battlements. Astonished anew at the numbers Duncan commanded, she started when his grim voice broke the silence.
“I’ve a matter of peace to discuss with the O’Melaghlin—but enough, man, I trust Lady de Londres will tell you all.”
Adele’s sharp intake of breath made Maire twist round in the saddle, the woman glancing in disbelief from Gerard to Duncan.
“But … but I thought I was to accompany you—”
“Only this far. Ennell Castle isn’t as grand as Longford, but you’ll find your needs ably met.”
With that Duncan sharply veered his horse around while Adele could but sputter, Maire struck by a fresh stab that he hadn’t spared her a further glance. Yet the O’Melaghlins—Finian, Innis, and Tynan … clearly Duncan still meant to release them.
Warmed no matter how indifferently he’d treated her, she felt a glimmer of hope flaring in her heart. All might not be lost. And he’d said to take her to his private quarters, nothing about a dungeon—
“Damn you, wench, you may think you’ve won some reprieve, but you haven’t—do you hear me?”
Stricken, Maire met Gerard’s burning eyes as he purposely walked his mount past hers, his face darkened with fury.
“I’ll have Black O’Byrne dead at the end of my sword before we leave this place, I swear it, and you’re going to bring him to me!”
Gerard kicked his horse into a gallop and joined the rest of Duncan’s men thundering away from the castle, while Maire could but stare after him, blood roaring in her ears. She was almost grateful when the guard yanked her mount once more into motion, anything to spare her from Adele’s hateful gaze as well.
Any hope she’d felt so fleetingly all but dead, she knew nothing now but desperation as she thought of Ronan out there watching them, of Duncan mayhap riding into his path—Jesu help her, of Gerard’s threat! —and her gaze fell to the moat as they passed over the drawbridge.
It was empty, no more than a muddy ditch.
***
“Aye, lord, that’s the same castle—repairs made, the walls fortified, but the same.”
Flann O’Faelin flat on his belly beside him, Niall on his left, Ronan’s jaw clenched as Maire disappeared into the gatehouse, one Norman leading her mount by the reins while three others followed. Then went the blond woman who’d shrieked like a wild banshee last night and brought the baron’s men down upon him, while the bastard he’d fought rode after Duncan FitzWilliam—by God, if only he had more clansmen with him, he’d attack now!
“Aye, almost two years ago, lord, we came by here, and you struck a man down if I recall.”
“Because he raised his weapon like a damned fool and tried to spear you in the back, Flann O’Faelin. What the devil else was I to do?”
Ronan got no answer but a grunt, while Niall remained grimly silent. It was better than listening further to his younger brother blame himself about Maire. Aye, he knew all about such guilt. But a brazen, flame-haired hoyden had saved him from his own. An ache rose inside him at the days spent without seeing Triona and little Deirdre. How many more would pass now that his attempt to rescue Maire had failed?
“I’m wondering if the man you slew has anything to do with the baron,” came Flann’s low voice. “You said the spawn you fought recognized you, knew your name. Did he seem familiar to you?”
Ronan shook his head; he remembered more the corpses rotting in the dungeon than any of the Normans he’d made to lie facedown upon the floor while his clansmen went through the castle looking for anything of value. Yet God help him, what did any of that matter? Maire was in grave danger … though his gut told him that she hadn’t been before.
There had been no guards posted outside the dwelling-house, and none inside, only Maire dressed and heading to the door to his surprise as if to flee. He wished they’d had time to speak, but wishing was a futile business to the circumstances they faced now. The bastards knew Maire was an O’Byrne, though he suspected that they hadn’t before. Just as he’d hoped, she must have managed some ruse—
“Good God, Ronan, what are we to do? If only a section of the wall was down like before—”
“Aye, we clambered over the rubble like goats,” Flann interrupted Niall, who cursed in frustration. “The wall had been battered down thanks to King John and his army come to destroy their own kind.”
“But we’ve no battering ram, Flann, so why even speak of it?” Niall slammed a clenched fist into the ground. “And this time the castle is overrun with Normans, not like the few we came upon two years past.”
“So we watch and wait, just as before.” Ronan glanced from Flann to Niall. “If Maire was attempting to flee last night, she might very well try again.”
“Last night she had a chance, Ronan—no high walls to frustrate her, and you said she had no guards to prevent it. The devil take them, it’s different now!”
Ronan could but stare at Niall in silent agreement. His gut tightened at the realization that the Normans might decide to threaten Maire’s life as a means to capture him.
It was becoming clearer all the time that she must have fooled the spawn since she’d been abducted; the memory plagued him
still of Maire outside Longford Castle throwing her arms around Duncan FitzWilliam’s neck. And then last night … when he’d watched the baron kiss her before carrying her into the dwelling-house—by God, why was he tormenting himself? No matter to what drastic lengths Maire must have gone, all was changed, just as Niall had said.
“Aye, we watch and wait,” Ronan repeated more to himself, adding under his breath like a fervent prayer, “and get as close to the castle as we can. If Maire tries again to escape, we must be ready …”
He said no more, already on his feet. Niall and Flann glanced at each other and then shoved themselves from the ground to follow after him.
Chapter 31
“God’s breath, Duncan, the O’Melaghlins are freed, your blessed peace achieved! It’s time we speak of Black O’Byrne and what’s to be done with the wench—I’ll wait no longer!”
Scowling, Duncan spun around at the entrance to the keep to face Gerard, having borne all that he would stomach from his knight. “My blessed peace? Dammit, man, the accord struck today affects all within the barony, not only me! If you weren’t so consumed by the other, you might see it as well.”
“So consumed?” Gerard’s voice had grown quiet, almost emotionless, his eyes riveted to Duncan’s face. “I thought we shared a like intent, you and I, to avenge Robert’s murder. But perhaps now that has changed—”
“Nothing’s changed. I wish Black O’Byrne dead as much as you.” Duncan scowled even more deeply as thunder rumbled across the darkening sky, dusk falling like a heavy veil. “Enough. You see little else can be done with this day, and another storm comes.”
“Let it howl and bluster! Did that keep the bastard from slaying one of your own men last night?”
Duncan didn’t answer, sensing what Gerard planned to say next even as his knight’s voice grew harsher.
“It’s not so late we cannot act, Duncan. Give the wench over to me, and we’ll see how quickly Black O’Byrne runs to save her—”
“By the blood of God, man, enough! The woman remains in my quarters until I’ve decided the best course—didn’t I say as much last night?”
Duncan turned and strode into the keep before Gerard could answer. Knowing that his knight’s furious eyes burned into his back stoked his own mounting anger. And he felt it no more acutely than his fury at himself.
Why was he delaying a decision? Tonight, tomorrow morning. A few hours would not alter the fact that the woman who awaited his judgment even now had deceived him as surely as her brothers and clansmen watched Ennell Castle. He had felt their eyes fixed upon him, too, as he approached the fortress, though he’d seen no sign of them.
His tension growing, Duncan ignored servants and his men alike as he navigated the rabbits’ warren of lamplit stairways that ran between floors. Longford Castle’s design was much more to his liking than this towering square keep. The place was like a maze, and he almost wished the fire set within the great hall on the uppermost floor by Walter de Lacy’s men had gutted the castle so he might have had good reason to tear it down and start anew.
According to the villagers a violent thunderstorm within the bailey had doused the blaze, but nothing had saved the outbuildings, constructed entirely of wood. Yet those, too, had been rebuilt, the great hall, the roof of the keep, and the curtain wall repaired where King John’s forces had broken through …
Duncan swore under his breath; Black O’Byrne and his men a few weeks later had gained entrance at that same point and within moments, Robert de Barry lay dead. That was what he should be thinking of. His anger grew so fierce that as he took the narrow steps spiraling up the tower to his private quarters three at a time, his heart began to pound.
Two guards flanked the entrance when he reached the landing, but his thunderous glance sent them into retreat down the way he’d come while Duncan considered kicking down the door. Gone was the eagerness he’d always known before, in its place as much raw pain and fury as the countless lies he had believed ran through his mind. Somehow he made himself thrust open the door, still with so much force that it slammed against the wall.
He wasn’t surprised at the gasp that greeted him, Maire turning from the single window so suddenly that she nearly lost her balance and had to catch herself against a table. Her eyes were as wide and uncertain in the blazing firelight as he’d ever seen them. She stared at him even as he stared at her, neither speaking for what to Duncan seemed like endless moments.
He saw her swallow hard and it cut him that she must truly fear him now; he wondered if she thought he might strike her as Gerard had done. That she might believe him capable of such an act cut him even deeper, but what else was the woman to think at how he’d stormed into the room?
Stunned that his anger could be so easily tempered, Duncan steeled himself against her ashen pallor, steeled himself against impassioned memories that even now leapt into his mind, and shut the door hard behind him. She started, but lifted her chin not in defiance but as if bolstering her courage, her beautiful gray eyes not straying from his.
“Duncan, I—”
“Spare me any more lies, woman, there’s little for us to say to each other. You are Maire O’Byrne, sister to the Wicklow rebel Black O’Byrne?”
She didn’t readily answer, looking so stricken that once again, Duncan had to steel himself against the effect she had upon him. Just hearing his name upon her lips had been difficult enough—
“Aye, Ronan Black O’Byrne is my brother.”
Her voice soft as a whisper, Duncan saw that she trembled, and he had to fight with all his will the sudden hunger to go to her and pull her into his arms. He saw, too, tears glistening in her eyes, one spilling down her bruised cheek stabbing him as deeply as any knife.
“Will you— Will you use me to hurt him?”
Duncan felt his throat grow tight, the anguish in her gaze, her words like a breathing, palpable thing between them. All that Gerard had suggested to draw out Black O’Byrne running through his mind, he knew in that moment he could do none of it, would do none of it—God help him, how could he allow any further harm to come to her after all she’d suffered? He loved her! Loved her still no matter the lies, the deceit. His overwhelming thought was how to protect her.
As much fresh pain as determination filling him, Duncan was not surprised that he thought, too, of Rory O’Melaghlin earlier that day reunited with his two grandsons and Finian, his harper, the proud old chieftain’s face lit by such astonishment and gratitude Duncan couldn’t help but be moved.
Maire had been right, no matter she’d suggested such a course as a means for her own escape. The O’Melaghlin had readily agreed to peace, even offering to join him in fighting against any rogue Normans before Duncan had even spoken of it, and vowing as well that no more cattle would be stolen from the baron of Longford’s herds.
“Duncan … ?”
He met her eyes, her voice shaking, her face pale, and he spoke with a voice that sounded ragged to him as well. “No, woman, I’ll not use you to hurt your brother. All you’ve done these past days, all you’ve said … I cannot blame you. You came to me against your will. It’s only right that I release you.”
A hush fell in the room, the only sound the logs crackling in the hearth, though Maire heard little but her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Release her? Had Duncan truly said … ? Incredulous, she could but stare at him, her knees suddenly grown so weak she braced herself against the table for fear she might collapse.
He had burst into the room so furiously, she had thought the worst, aye, expected the worst, his dark eyes so filled with anger, his first words to her uttered in a voice so hard that her legs had nearly given way. She had spent tortuous hours agonizing over Gerard’s threat and assuming that Duncan must surely agree with his knight. She had never imagined …
“Your brothers followed us here, I’m certain of it. Once you leave Ennell Castle and ride to the south, you’ll not be long by yourself.”
Duncan sp
oke as if a plan even now formed in his mind, while Maire could only nod, still dumbstruck. He’d said brothers as well, and she realized then that Duncan must have been the one to lift her from the ground after Gerard had struck her; he must have heard her pleading for both Ronan and Niall.
And he must have undressed her last night, too, Maire found herself thinking, as Duncan went to the bench in front of the hearth where she’d draped her cloak to dry.
Aye, changed her out of her wet clothing and into a sleeping gown and covered her with blankets—saints help her, why hadn’t she considered that until now? Warmth flooded her when Duncan gathered up her cloak and came toward her; that he would assist her even in this small way made her tremble anew. Surely if he hated her, he wouldn’t—
“Is it true, woman, that you’ve always loved wild roses?”
Maire met his eyes, drawing in her breath as much at his low query as that he stood so close to her to settle the cloak around her shoulders. “A-aye … the red ones best of all.”
“Like those we saw at the ruins.”
Slowly she nodded, her heart pounding, an emotion passing across his handsome face that she could not name.
“And you’re fond of embroidery? You possess such skill, I thought you must be.”
Maire could not speak for a moment as she searched his eyes, wondering that he would ask her such things but feeling relieved too, that she could finally share the truth.
“Aye, I did little else until I regained the use of my legs two years past—but mine is no match for your mother’s, God rest her. I’ve never seen such fine needlework …”
Maire fell still at the sudden hard lump in her throat, such intense regret filling her that she’d never been able to speak so openly with him before. And he with her—Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, might he feel the same? Was that why he’d posed such questions? He seemed about to ask her something else, only to suddenly curse under his breath, his expression grown hard again.
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