Nell

by Jeanette Baker

  “Am I foolish to dream of a man who never comes?” she whispered.

  Shadows gathered on the wall, took on female shape, and became three-dimensional. A voice followed. A better man than Robert Montgomery would be hard to find. But you are wise to wait, Nell.

  Surprise faded into pleasure. “Jilly, you’re back.”

  For a bit.

  “Why?”

  A slight fluid shrugging of her shoulders settled Jillian on the fur rug at Nell’s feet. I never left you, Nell. I’m always here.

  “In spirit, perhaps, but not like this.”

  No, Jillian agreed. I don’t understand it, either. All I know is that you see me when you are faced with a particular dilemma. Most of the time, you do fairly well alone.

  Nell sighed. “It isn’t really a dilemma. I have no choice.”

  If you really believe that, why did you ask Robert to wait?

  Nell spread her hands across her stomach. “Look at me. Who would want me like this?”

  I thought the idea was to make him not want you.

  “’Tis true. I want only Donal.”

  You haven’t heard from him in months, Jillian finished for her.

  Nell nodded. “Our year of handfast is almost over, and still he has not come.”

  You told him to wait because of Gerald, Jillian said reasonably.

  Nell hung her head. “He should have found a way. But if he has forgotten me, I should make a life with Robert. As you say, a better man would be hard to find.”

  Wait a bit longer, Nell. Your child will be born soon. Jillian’s voice was very low, and the outline of her body began to blur.

  Nell panicked and reached out, finding nothing but air. “Don’t leave yet, Jilly,” she begged. “Please, don’t leave.”

  Jillian’s voice, barely intelligible, drifted back to her.

  Wait, Nell. You are right to wait.

  Thirteen

  O’Flaherty held up his hand, and the small company of men behind him reined in their mounts. They had ridden hard for most of the day, and it was past time to camp for the night. Mountains, jagged and intimidating, broke the straight line of the horizon, and a thick, soupy mist settled around them like smoke. This was Wales, land of spirits and magic, King Arthur and Merlin, the druid from whose bloodline the O’Flahertys had descended.

  Donal frowned into the mist and narrowed his eyes. It was madness to continue with so little visibility, but, so far, he had found no auspicious place to bed down for the night. His men were Irish. Superstition ran thick through their blood. He could not ask them to sleep in this fog-drenched land of swirling mists with inhuman sounds calling to them from hidden places behind every tree.

  It was a testimony to their loyalty that they continued behind him with no thought of mutiny. But they would not camp on this ground, wrapped in their blankets, alone in their thoughts, with no activity other than sleep to occupy their minds. Still, it was several hours to Cilcerrig, and the horses needed watering. A respite, however short, was necessary.

  He pitched his voice so that even the last of the men would hear. “Halt,” he called back. Instantly, every man stopped. Donal did not miss the tight mouths and anxious eyes as they looked around the fairy-steeped darkness. “We rest here,” he said firmly. “Refresh yourselves. Tonight we camp within sight of the towers of Cilcerrig.”

  The lessening of their tension was a visible thing. Donal dismounted and reached into his bag for an oat cake, a morsel of dried beef, and his sheep’s bladder. Through the trees he heard the sound of water. Draining the last of the liquid from the bag, he made his way down an embankment to a narrow stream. He knelt on a flat stone, cupped his hand under the falls, and drank deeply before refilling the bag and tying it off. Then he splashed the icy water over his face and squatted on the stone, resting easily on the balls of his feet.

  The fog was thinner here. Something bright moved just outside his line of vision. He tensed and turned toward the flickering light. Instinctively, his hand moved to the dirk at his belt, and he readied himself to spring. Then his eyes widened. His hand dropped to his side, and he whistled long and low. “Sweet Mary,” he muttered as the light came closer, revealing a figure that could only be female despite her breeks and the odd cut of her shirt. She carried no candle, but her body was surrounded by a yellow glow. Donal waited for her to speak.

  I’m looking for Donal O’Flaherty, she said when she reached him. Her voice was somehow both Irish and foreign.

  Donal stood and replaced his dirk in his belt. “What do you want with him?”

  I bring him a message.

  “From whom?”

  She hesitated. I need to speak with the O’Flaherty.

  “Who are you, lass, and what brings you here?”

  Jillian could see him clearly now, and her breath caught. It was him. There could be no doubt. Nell had described him often enough, but even if she hadn’t, Jillian would have known him. He had the look of a man born to command. Young as he was, the still planes of his face and the bunched muscles of his arms and chest revealed both strength and wisdom. He was beyond handsome, and those eyes—she drew a deep, shaky breath. Those eyes were a powerful weapon. If Donal O’Flaherty ever looked at her with more than a curious interest, she would follow him anywhere. No wonder Nell had no interest in her husband. This was a man of whom legends were made. She swallowed. I bring a message concerning Nell Fitzgerald.

  Before she could blink, he had crossed the distance between them. “What do you know of Nell Fitzgerald?” he demanded.

  Jillian’s eyes flashed. Not since she was a child had anyone spoken to her in anger. Lower your voice, please, she said, keeping her back teeth locked.

  Donal frowned. There was something different about this girl. She wasn’t dressed as a lady, and yet she was no servant. He stepped back. “Who are you?”

  Jillian ignored him. You’ve taken a long time to claim your betrothed, she said instead. Nell has given up on you.

  His intentions regarding Nell were no one’s business. Donal’s beautifully cut mouth tightened. “She is married,” he said shortly.

  Jillian fixed the power of her gaze upon him, and Donal felt his will dissolve. Her eyes were the color of the North Sea with the full strength of the sun upon it. There was something about this woman that transcended beauty.

  Nell is handfasted to you, Jillian explained. What she did was done to save Gerald.

  Donal forced himself to look away. “Always Gerald,” he muttered under his breath. “For all the trouble he has caused me, I could wish the lad on Henry.”

  Nell will appreciate your sentiments, I’m sure, Jillian said sweetly.

  Donal grinned. He was sure he’d never seen her before, but she reminded him of someone. He felt a connection to her. There was something about her that drew him despite her shorn head and mannish clothes. Her hair glowed like rare silk, and it smelled delicious. He had the strangest desire to run his hands through the smooth and shining length of it. “You are too well favored to sport such a shrewish tongue, lass,” he said softly. “Who are you that you know Nell’s thoughts and yet appear before me, hours from Cilcerrig, with no mount or escort?”

  Jillian’s mouth was very dry. His voice was spellbinding. She had never been this close to a man before, but she knew instinctively that this was no ordinary man. He was Donal O’Flaherty and most likely her direct ancestor.

  Through the mist, she heard a masculine shout, and sanity returned. She pulled away. How far away was a sixteenth-century Irish chieftain from his Talesian roots? How much would he accept? My name is Jillian, she began softly, and I came here to be sure of your intentions regarding Nell. It’s important that you take her away from here.

  In the space of a heartbeat, something alive and sympathetic traveled between them. Jillian was close t
o tears, and when Donal spoke, there was something different in his voice, a note of wonder that had not been there before. “Are you an angel sent from God?”

  Good Lord, no, she blurted out. I’m— She searched for the right words. I’m more like a spirit or a ghost, and no one sent me, at least I don’t think so, she added honestly.

  Donal shook his head and watched his image reflected in the seafoam green of her eyes. “You are no ghost, Jillian. I can see you, touch you.” He reached for her.

  She stepped back. You may see me as Nell does, but others can’t.

  He frowned and dropped his hands to his sides. “Nell and I are fortunate to have so concerned a ghost.”

  You’re making fun of me.

  Tiny lights flickered in the black of his eyes. “Nay, lass. I would like the truth, but if you are unwilling to give it, I’ll not pester you.” He stepped down from the rock and held out his hand. “Come. We’ll ride to Cilcerrig together.”

  She backed away from him. No, thank you. I’ll manage on my own.

  He moved toward her. “Don’t be absurd.” Something was happening to his vision. Donal blinked and rubbed his eyes. It had suddenly gone dark. “It’s freezing!” he shouted after her. “And there are wolves in the woods.” He started forward, pushing aside the tree branches to follow her. “Jillian!” he called out. But she was gone, and somehow he knew that he would not find her.

  Giving up, he retraced his footsteps back to the stream and climbed the bank where his men waited. It wasn’t until much later, when the torches on the battlements of Cilcerrig Castle flared in the distance, that he realized the only footsteps in the damp earth had been his own.

  ***

  The men he chose to help him play out his charade spoke English without the telltale lilt of western Ireland. Even so, his story of duty in Dublin would serve him even better. After pulling out a doublet and hose from his saddle pack, he changed quickly, mounted his horse, and arranged the short English cloak so that it fell in folds around his shoulders. Then he surveyed his men, nodded with satisfaction, and approached the gates of Cilcerrig.

  The guard took an interminably long time in returning, and when he did, it was with his lordship himself, Sir Robert Montgomery. “By whose orders are you sent?” Montgomery asked.

  “Lord Leonard Gray wishes to learn of the circumstances of his kinsmen,” Donal answered.

  “Who are you?”

  “David Carlisle, heir to the earldom of Dunsany,” said Donal.

  Robert squinted into the darkness. So much for his evening alone with Nell. The torches revealed three men mounted on English saddles wearing English clothing. He nodded to the guard, and the gate was pulled up.

  Donal urged his mount across the bridge, through the portcullis, and into the courtyard. The linkboy who waited at the entrance to the hall was waved aside, and Donal watched his men lead the horses to the stable. They would dice and sup with Montgomery’s guards, making sure the whiskey flowed freely.

  Robert stood by the fire, pouring a dark wine into a glass of Venetian crystal. “You will join us at our table, Carlisle.”

  Donal bowed and moved into the light. “I shall be honored, my lord.”

  Robert Montgomery was the son of a Welsh hill woman and knew a fellow Celt when he saw him. He took one look at the young man walking toward him and knew that not one drop of English blood flowed through his veins. The lad was pure Celt from the V on his forehead dividing his face, preventing perfection, to the mist-gray of his eyes circled by rings of black, as black as the hair that fell in a primitive tangle to shoulders that had never spent a day in the mincing splendor of King Henry’s court.

  David Carlisle, or whoever he was, was a warrior. Only the frequent use of a claymore could have produced a chest and arms of such size. Robert kept himself fit by light eating and daily sparring, but he found himself puffing out his own chest and wishing that it was not too late to ask Nell to sup in her chambers and leave him alone with his guest. He would not measure up in comparison to this splendid young man who was very near to her own age.

  The door opened, and Nell stood on the threshold. “Good evening, my lords,” she said in her lovely voice.

  “Good evening, my love.” Robert, walking forward to lead her into the room, missed the sudden blanching of Donal’s face as his eyes moved over Nell’s figure. “You must welcome our guest, Lord David Carlisle, from Dublin. Your uncle has commissioned him to bring you a message.”

  Nell had known David Carlisle for most of her life, and even though she saw only the man’s back when she first entered the room, she knew at once who it must be. She kept her expression blandly pleasant and did not once betray the hurt in her heart at the wintry look in Donal’s ice-gray eyes. “Welcome to Cilcerrig, my lord,” she said calmly. “I trust your journey was not difficult.”

  “Not at all, Lady Montgomery.” He did not sound at all like the man she remembered. “Lord Gray is concerned for your welfare. To hear that you have settled in so well will bring him great joy.”

  There could be no answer to such a comment, not when Robert was standing between them. “I am very hungry, my lord,” was all she said.

  Nell could barely manage her soup. Taking no part in the conversation, she declined the fish and said very little when the roasted venison and onion gravy were placed before her. Pushing it around on her plate, she managed the appearance of a hearty appetite. Refusing the jellies, she stood. “Please excuse me, gentlemen.”

  “My wife tires easily of late,” Robert explained to Donal. “The birth of our firstborn is imminent.”

  Without waiting for Donal’s reply, Nell left the hall and hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  She did not change into her night robe. Donal was there, and despite his foul mood, he must have come for her. Pulling her cloak around her, she climbed onto the bed and waited. The minutes passed slowly. Nell yawned, climbed off the bed, replenished the meager fire, and sat down in the rocker. Why would he not come?

  She was wrong to have left him all those months ago. She knew that now. It was too much for a man, to ask him to wait, to put his needs behind that of a child not his own. At the time, it seemed to be the only decision she could have made. But it was the wrong one. She had accomplished nothing except to stir Henry’s lust and involve herself in a marriage that would only serve to break the heart of the kindest of men. Better to have stayed with Donal and taken her chances on his ability to keep Gerald safe.

  Nell shivered. The fire was low again, and her back felt stiff. Where was he? Perhaps he would not mind if she waited for him in the comfort of her bed. She crawled under the woolen blankets and pulled them up to her chin. Within minutes, her eyes closed, and she slept.

  The cock crowed, and the pale light of dawn filtered through her window. Nell did not open her eyes. She knew something was wrong. The dull pain in her chest had become very familiar to her in the last two years, but she was in that state between waking and sleeping and couldn’t remember the reason for it.

  Then it came to her. Donal had not come. She threw back the covers and slid off the bed. Her gown was wrinkled, and her eyelids drooped from lack of sleep. Opening the clothes press, she pulled out a simple woolen tunic cut to conceal her stomach and threw it on the bed. She would bathe and join the men at breakfast.

  Nell picked up the glass and hummed nervously as the girl divided her hair into three sections and plaited it with golden thread to bring out its silvery lights. The gown not only hid her bulk, it brought out the green in her eyes. She was pleased with her choice. “Thank you, Susan,” she said as the serving girl twisted the thread several times around the end of the braid. “That will be all.”

  When she was alone, Nell opened a bottle of scented oil and rubbed it behind her ears and over the pulse points on the insides of her wrists. Her heart beat quickly. Soo
n Donal would take her away from here, and the life her father had intended her to have would begin.

  The narrow stairs, unevenly hewn for the sole purpose of slowing down an enemy, were tricky for a woman in her condition. By balancing herself against the walls, she managed the dangerous spiral.

  Breakfast was served in a small dining room off the hall. A smile parted her lips as she pushed open the door. The room was empty. Surely it was too early for Robert to have eaten already. Nell walked back through the hall to the outside kitchens. The servants were in the middle of food preparation. She sighed with relief. It was not too late after all.

  Robert called to her from the courtyard. “Nell. Come out and bid our guests farewell. His lordship must return to Dublin immediately and cannot stay even for breakfast.”

  Nell felt as if a giant boot had kicked her in the stomach. Her heart stopped and she fought for breath. He was leaving without her.

  “Nell?” Robert’s concerned voice, closer now, broke through her wave of nausea. “Are you ill? Is it the child?”

  She shook her head and forced herself to smile brilliantly. “No, my lord. ’Tis nothing. I shall be there directly.” Slowly, slowly, she managed the distance from the kitchen to the castle gates. She looked past Robert to where Donal waited with his men. He was mounted on the enormous stallion she remembered, and his eyes, reflecting the leaden sky above him, looked right through her.

  Nell willed herself not to cry. “God speed, my lord,” she said, lifting her chin.

  He nodded briefly. “My lady.” Without the hint of a smile, he turned and rode across the drawbridge into the forest.

  Robert stroked his chin. “I wonder who his mother is?”