“Come. It’s time we go.”
He began to move away, but Maire reached out before she even realized what she was doing and caught his arm. “Duncan, wait, I want you to know—” She faltered at the intensity in his eyes as he turned to face her but made herself rush on almost recklessly. “Your mother—she could only have been good and kind to have a son such as you. And she wasn’t mad, couldn’t have been mad to have made a thing so beautiful as that screen. Yet that you came by it given your half brothers—”
“They didn’t steal everything from me. The needlework was secreted from the tower by a loyal servant, the screen fashioned at my mother’s wish. She bade the woman to keep it safely hidden from those who might destroy it, and so the screen was, for years, until I sent for it after I won the barony. A gift to a son she swore upon her deathbed was as true a FitzWilliam as the love she’d borne for her husband—God’s teeth, she might have named me a fool as well!”
Maire was startled that Duncan pulled away his arm and strode out onto the landing; his face had grown so grim that she doubted he wished to say anything more at all. Yet he watched her intently as she joined him, and she swore she saw emotion raging in his eyes that made her heart race all the harder … saints help her, pain so vivid that she knew then as surely as she breathed that he did not hate her.
“The steps are too many.”
He said no more but swept her into his arms, Maire never more tempted to reveal what raged inside her. Yet after all that had happened, would he believe how much she loved him? And even if he did, Ronan, Niall, and the rest of her clansmen still waited outside the castle, the chasm separating her from Duncan as wide and terrible as before.
Tears bit her eyes as they descended the narrow stairway but she forced them away, telling herself, too, that just because Duncan was releasing her didn’t mean his hatred for Ronan ran any less deep. And what of Gerard? What of Adele? Begorra, who was truly the fool? It was not to be! Ever since she’d seen the empty moat, she had prayed for nothing more than a way to escape the castle so she might protect Duncan, and now he was setting her free himself
“Lord FitzWilliam!”
Maire felt Duncan tense as Edward de Valognes, the swarthy knight who’d appeared at the battlements that morning to shout down at them, came lunging up the steps.
“Rebels, my lord, we’ve sighted them moving toward the castle! I’ve crossbowmen positioned and ready to fire atop the towers, it’s not too dark yet—”
“Dammit, man, I gave no such orders!”
Duncan’s roar ringing in her ears, Maire found herself set abruptly upon her feet and left behind as he pushed past his knight, de Valognes glancing at her with some surprise before turning to rush after him. It seemed within an instant they were gone, the distant sound of a door slamming while Maire sank onto a step, stricken.
Crossbowmen were ready to fire? God help them, at Ronan? Niall? She started at a clap of thunder so violent that the tower around her seemed to quake, but it served to rouse her shakily to her feet and her gaze flew down the spiraling steps. Somehow she had to get to the tower battlements. Somehow …
She didn’t think further but kept one hand pressed to the wall as she did her best to hurry, cursing that she couldn’t move faster than what seemed a snail’s pace when she so desperately wanted to fly. Her only comfort was that Duncan had clearly gone to amend the orders. She began to pray Ronan and Niall and her other O’Byrne clansmen would recognize their danger and retreat, that a violent downpour would send the crossbowmen running for cover, anything to avert disaster as she reached a landing and half stumbled through the door.
She was astonished to see a short passageway and another stairway leading downward, her desperation mounting because she knew the battlements lay upward. Yet there was no other route; surely Duncan had gone this way. She must have descended twenty steps when she came to another landing, Maire as breathless from exertion as confused by the long lamplit passageway that greeted her.
She could hear nothing, no commotion to guide her, yet she plunged ahead, tempted to call out for Duncan, to anyone to help her. The route to his quarters had seemed more straightforward, but she’d had the grim-faced guards then to lead the way.
She could do nothing but continue on, sensing with wretched certainty that she was lost even as she tested the nearest door, cracking it slightly. Relief swamped her when she heard someone speaking—
“I vow it, Gerard, my brothers would not fault you! That Duncan delays even now should tell you he no more intends to rid himself of that Irish whore than he’ll help you capture Black O’Byrne. He’s betrayed you! He’s dishonored his family. I say he should die!”
Chapter 32
Maire didn’t move, couldn’t move, her hand frozen to the latch as Adele’s voice grew more venomous, more heated.
“Can you stomach the thought of Black O’Byrne’s sister for Duncan’s wife? The sister of the man who slaughtered your brother? It will happen unless something is done—you could go to his quarters now! You said you believed them together. And you must use your knife, Gerard, Duncan bears one as well. It will look as if she committed the deed, then you’ll truly have her to do with as you like!”
Horrified, Maire backed away from the door, the sound of heavy footsteps moving toward her filling her with panic. Wildly she looked back the way she’d come—Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, would Gerard take that route? She must choose!
Maire lunged in the opposite direction, her heart thundering as she kept one hand braced against the wall so she wouldn’t fall. She heard the door creaking open behind her, and pushed herself all the harder to reach the end of the passageway—Jesu help her!
She nearly fell in her haste to duck around the corner. Adele’s low voice carried to her as Maire stood with her back pressed to the wall and fought to catch her breath.
“I’ll wait for you here, my love. Think of it! Black O’Byrne will be slain this very night—Robert’s death finally avenged. You must not fail!”
Sickened, Maire didn’t wait to hear Gerard’s vehement reply but hastened as quietly and quickly as she could through an archway and down a short dark passage. Her hands shook so badly when she reached an opposite door that she could barely lift the latch. Yet she had only to think Gerard might be close behind her and she made her fingers obey, her fear tempering her astonishment when she entered a vast room ablaze with torchlight that was clearly the great hall.
Servants were rushing to arrange long trestle tables and benches for the evening meal, and Maire called out to a kindly-looking Irishwoman near her; she wasn’t surprised her voice was all but hoarse.
“Please … I must find Lord FitzWilliam. He’s gone to the tower battlements—you must take me there!”
At the woman’s nod, Maire had never known such overwhelming relief as she followed her from the great hall, ignoring curious glances thrown their way. Yet her heart sank moments later when she was faced with more spiral steps, and she feared then she would never make it to the battlements in time. Even now Duncan might be returning to where he’d left her while Gerard was headed there too—
“Miss, would you have me go after him? The climb might be too much for you—if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Aye, please! Tell him I’m waiting here—oh, please, you must hurry!”
The Irishwoman didn’t linger, Maire feeling an aching heaviness in her legs even as she wished desperately it was her climbing the tower. Only when the servingwoman had disappeared did it strike her that Duncan might not believe what she’d heard from Adele, and she sank in anguish onto a step.
***
“God’s teeth, she’s where?”
“Outside the great hall, lord, aye, and pale as can be. I came to find you as quickly as I could.”
The servingwoman having shouted to be heard above the rumbling thunder, Duncan didn’t wait for her to say more. With a last glance at the darkening countryside, a burst of lightning illuminating the distant line
of ancient oak and birch where he sensed in his gut that the O’Byrnes had taken refuge, he brushed past Edward de Valognes, who squinted against the stinging drizzle.
“If the rebels venture closer, Baron—”
“Do nothing, not unless I tell you!”
That the strapping knight looked at him with as much puzzlement as when Duncan had roared for the crossbowmen to stand away from the battlements only made him curse under his breath; he had no time or inclination to explain things further. He ducked into the tower and charged down the steps, his mind racing that Maire hadn’t waited for him where he’d left her.
He could only guess that she must have attempted to follow him, and his gut tightened that she held such concern for her brothers. By the blood of God, he would settle for half as much for himself, a quarter!
Yet he’d heard no protests when he’d said he would release her, no apologies, no explanations, the realization striking him like an ice-cold blade at how eager she must be to leave Ennell Castle. To leave him. Was there any greater fool that he still hoped some small word from her might alter the lies and deceit that had gone before?
That he’d asked her of the roses, of her embroidery, proved he was only deceiving himself as well. He’d longed for nothing more than to ask her a thousand questions, to sit down with her and talk and learn all there was to know of Maire O’Byrne and never let her go—God help him, why could he not stop tormenting himself?
His gut clenched all the harder when he spied her sitting upon the step with her back to him, her head resting almost forlornly against the wall. Yet she must have heard him coming; she twisted around, her face as ashen as the servingwoman had claimed, her lovely eyes stricken just to see him. Wondering if she feared he had changed his mind about releasing her, he took almost perverse comfort that he could arouse some emotion within her though not the one he so hungered for.
“Duncan, we must speak!”
He reached her in time to help her rise, struck as much that she sounded so alarmed as that he could feel her trembling. But he didn’t wish to speak—he wanted this wretched torment at an end! He swept her from her feet no matter she gasped in surprise, and then attempted the impossible task of not thinking that he would hold her no more after this night as he continued down the tower steps.
“Duncan, please—”
“Your accursed brothers are safe, woman, no arrows unleashed upon them. Save your words for your fond reunion.”
“But Duncan—”
“Enough! Did you not hear me before? We’ve nothing further to speak of, you and I—nothing! I’m releasing you to your clansmen, that alone should suffice.”
She had blanched, which cut him. The lithe weight of her cut him. That she was so incredibly beautiful cut him. That he would never again know the taste of her lips or feel her touch tore at him so unbearably he almost groaned aloud. Grateful the steps in this tower were as straightforward as any in the other three, he reached the bottom floor in what seemed no more than a moment’s time and strode through the narrow forebuilding toward the entrance to the keep.
“Duncan, you must hear me.”
She’d spoken so softly, her voice pleading with him, but he ignored her still and stepped outside into what had become a steady downpour, the bailey dark now but for scattered torches guttering and hissing. It was a short stride to the stable, and he set her down more roughly than he should have beneath the eaves of the low building while he went inside to saddle a mount.
Men-at-arms who’d sought refuge from the storm turned to stare at him, and Duncan waved away the assistance of two young stableboys who came running. He was so angry now, so wretchedly hopeless that he needed something to do, anything to keep from exploding, the emotion raging inside him had grown so fierce.
As if reading his temper, none said a word, the stable silent but for the low nickering of horses and the sharp whinny of the dun gelding he saddled for Maire. It seemed the Wicklow O’Byrnes would gain a prize animal tonight, too, for he knew he wanted a strong mount beneath her. He led the gelding from the stall, not surprised to see that Maire stood at the stable door, watching him.
Yet when he drew closer, she glanced with apprehension over her shoulder and he wondered suddenly what she might fear. Adele? Gerard? He cursed under his breath, imagining what they would have to say of his decision—by the devil, he had no time to think of them now!
“Duncan, if you’d only listen to me,” came Maire’s plea again as she met his eyes while he gestured sharply for her to step closer. “I must tell you something … of Adele and—”
“I know, woman, they’ll not be pleased.” He cut her off, his hands encircling her waist to lift her onto the sidesaddle.
She was wet and shaking, her teeth chattering, and he felt such an urge to seize her against him, to warm the chill from her body one last time that it was all he could do to release her. Somehow he did, forcing himself not to look at her further but focusing instead on leading her mount the short distance to the torchlit gatehouse as he wiped cold rain from his eyes.
“No, no, it’s far worse! You must hear me!”
He said nothing, steeling himself against the urgent timbre of her voice even as he signaled for guards to lower the drawbridge, the loud creaking stabbing at the very heart of him.
“Duncan, they plot against you! I knew you might not believe me, but you must know—aye, Gerard intends to kill you!”
Duncan stopped cold, such fury filling him that she would concoct an incredible lie as he prepared to release her, he didn’t trust himself to speak or to face her.
“I overheard them, Duncan, while I was trying to find my way to the battlements. Adele told Gerard to use his knife against you—that it would appear as if I’d been the one to slay you since you bear a knife, too, and then he could finally use me to capture my brother—”
“By the blood of God, woman, will you not cease? Enough!”
His roar echoing about the bailey, Duncan had rounded upon her but she shook her head, her expression as stricken as determined in the torchlight.
“No, Duncan, it’s not enough, not until you hear all! Gerard lied to you about the O’Melaghlins, didn’t he? He lives to avenge his brother, aye, his hatred has become his blood and breath and he thought you stood with him. But now he believes you’ve betrayed him—Adele said as much! Can you not see that he might turn his hatred upon you?”
Duncan didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, his grip so tight upon the gelding’s bridle that it hurt. Somehow he made himself turn around even as a ragged sigh came from Maire—she must know he gave no weight at all to her words. How could he?
He didn’t stop again until they reached the lowered drawbridge, the downpour become so heavy, pounding against the wood, that it sounded like a roar in his ears. Nor did he hear the enraged shout behind him; only Maire grabbing wildly to catch his hand as he released the bridle made him glance over his shoulder to see Gerard running through the mud toward them.
He felt it then, a niggling of instinct suddenly burning like fire in his gut, while Maire made as if to dismount from her horse. Cursing, he pushed her back into the saddle and he saw then, too, that she was sobbing in terror, her fingers ice-cold as they frantically clutched his.
“Duncan, draw your sword! Saints help you, he’ll kill you and I love you too much—too much!”
He didn’t heed her, no longer hearing the rain for the wild thundering of his heart as he shoved the reins into her hands and slapped the gelding’s rump, his only thought to protect the woman he loved as fiercely. He caught a last glimpse of her face and then she was gone, horse and rider galloping into the darkness while Duncan spun around to meet the opponent who was already upon him.
***
“It’s Maire, Ronan, I would swear it!”
He had already spurred his horse from the cover of the trees before Niall had shouted to him, that no men-at-arms lined the battlements of the fortress convincing him further that something he’d never
expected was taking place. Rain lashing at his face, he rode as hard as he could remember, incredulous to see, too, that Maire had reined in her mount not far from the castle and appeared to be turning around. Cursing, Ronan drove his heels into his stallion’s heaving sides.
“By God, Maire, stay your ground. Stay your ground!”
He knew she couldn’t have heard him above a deafening crash of thunder, and he made no attempt to shout again but rode all the harder, Maire’s mount suddenly rearing as lightning burst across the sky. If not for that he doubted he would have caught her; she’d already ridden halfway back toward the castle.
So close to the towering battlements now that he knew he was a fair target for any crossbow-men, Ronan reached out and grabbed the gelding’s bridle to steady him, but he saw at once that Maire was another matter. A blinding flash of lightning showed her face twisted with such anguish, fierce sobs shaking her, that he knew then much was not as it seemed this night.
“Help him, Ronan, please help him!”
He followed her gaze to the fortress and the fight raging on the drawbridge, heavy sword ringing against sword, Ronan’s gut instincts screaming for him to do no more than grab Maire from her horse and ride back to Glenmalure as if the spawn of Satan himself were at their heels. Yet her agonized cry when one of the Normans crumpled to his knees cut him to the quick. Maire frantically slid from the saddle to attempt as best she could, slipping and stumbling, to run toward the castle.
“Saints help him, no! Ronan, please, I love him! I’ve never asked you for anything before!”
An arrow was flying through the air before she’d collapsed to weep helplessly. Ronan cursed under his breath as the missile found its mark, the second Norman pitching sideways into the empty moat. Dead, aye, he was certain of it, the very man he’d fought the night before, and he vehemently hoped the same for the baron of Longford who lay still upon the drawbridge. As shouts coming from the castle filled the night, Ronan had no chance to dismount before Niall reined in beside him and jumped from his horse to gather Maire into his arms.
Wild Roses Page 25