Nell

by Jeanette Baker

Nell’s brow puckered. “My lord?”

  “The lad is pure Celt,” Robert replied. “I’m surprised you did not see it, Nell. No race but the Irish can manage a horse like that. Carlisle is either a changeling or an impostor.”

  She spoke carefully. “If that is true, why did you not keep him from leaving?”

  “His manners are those of a gentleman. I saw no harm in him. He came with only two men, and whatever his motive, he is gone now. Let him tell his source that you and Gerald are well and happy.”

  Nell watched the gate drop into place, securing her behind the walls of her husband’s castle. Well and happy, he said. She would soon break down in tears. Robert would understand. A woman near her time occasionally lost control of her emotions. He was a most considerate man. She reached out to touch his arm. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I did not sleep well last night. Forgive me, but I must leave you to breakfast alone.”

  He was all concern. “Allow me to escort you, Nell.”

  She shook her head. In another moment, she would be completely undone. “Susan will take me. Please, Robert.”

  He watched her turn away, his eyes troubled. Nell was not given to fits of temper. Even in her most uncomfortable moments, she was good-natured and pleasant in mood. It was one of the things he most valued in her. It must be the child. Poor darling. It would come soon, and then she would be herself again.

  Robert’s spirits lifted. He had not forgotten Nell’s promise. After she had recovered from the child, she would truly become his wife. No more castle whores. No more unsatisfactory couplings, withdrawing prematurely to avoid an unwanted bastard. No more empty beds. Nell would be his wife. He would get his heirs on her. If his luck ran true, the child she carried would be a girl. If not, children born in summer and weaned in winter did not always survive the first year. One way or another, Robert would see to it that a Montgomery inherited Cilcerrig Castle.

  Fourteen

  It was nearly midnight. Donal pulled himself up and over the portcullis gate. It was not so difficult for a man who had spent his youth scaling the guano-stained cliffs of Dun Aengus to maneuver his way across a mere bridge and over a wall. Finding Nell’s chambers would be more difficult. To maintain warmth, sleeping quarters were usually on the top floor. He would start there. After locating the stairs, he climbed quickly to the top. No one was about.

  Resigning himself to a lengthy search, he placed his hand on his dirk and moved stealthily to the first door in the long hall. He leaned against it at the same time as a familiar voice whispered in his ear. Not this one. Follow me.

  He froze and then slowly turned and looked into eyes that had seen things he had never imagined. Donal felt his heart give a mighty thump before it settled into its normal rhythm. Questions would only delay them. Jillian was not of this world. There could be no other explanation for her presence.

  She held a finger to her lips. He followed her to a heavily engraved door at the end of the hall. It wasn’t bolted. Silently, he slipped into the room. Nell was awake. She stood before an inadequate fire, wrapped in a blanket, rubbing the ache in her back.

  Donal felt as if a giant fist were squeezing his heart. This was Nell, his Nell. How could he ever have looked at another woman with the stirrings of desire?

  Feeling his eyes upon her, Nell turned, and her mouth dropped open. With a low cry, she dropped the blanket, ran across the room, and threw herself into his arms. They closed around the bulk of her stomach, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

  Donal couldn’t think. Neither could he move or speak. Thoughts, angry and confusing, crowded his brain. Nell was with child. He’d counted back the months and wondered if the babe could be his own, but Montgomery’s words put an end to his hope. No castle lord would claim another man’s child as his own.

  Nell was married, and yet she’d flung herself into his arms as if nothing had changed between them. “I’m taking you back to Ireland,” he said gruffly.

  She lifted her head. “I must wake Gerald.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “When my absence is discovered, he will be killed.”

  Donal extricated himself from Nell’s embrace. “I have no intention of leaving the lad behind. You must go to him yourself. Do not trust a servant.”

  Nell touched her tongue to her lips. “I shall send Jillian. Gerald won’t be able to see her, of course. But she has a convincing way about her. He’ll not refuse if I send her.”

  All at once, he found it difficult to breathe. “Who is Jillian?” he managed.

  “She is a friend.” Nell busied herself at her dressing table.

  He decided to leave it. “Why would the lad refuse?”

  “Gerald is happy here. You must understand, Donal. He cares deeply for Robert and knows nothing of Henry’s threats against his life.”

  “I see.” Donal understood only too well. “Fetch the boy any way you please, but hurry. The hour grows late, and we’ve a great distance to ride before sunrise.”

  Nell frowned and turned to study his face. There was something different about Donal, something cold and terrifyingly distant. Without looking away, she reached for the woolen gown hanging over the bed rail and pulled it on over her shift. “I’ll go myself,” she said, and left the room.

  Donal judged that a full hour had passed before he set out to look for them. Somehow he knew not to bother with the remaining bedchambers lining the hall. Instinctively, as if he were following someone who walked the floors of Cilcerrig every day, he climbed down the stairs to the second landing and the row of rooms Gerald and his tutor occupied. He found Nell in the smallest chamber, in earnest dialogue with a man who had the look of a scholar. They were so engrossed in their words that neither noticed when he stepped into the room.

  “We cannot take you with us, Thomas,” he heard her say. “Robert is a fair man. You will not be held responsible for Gerald’s disappearance.”

  “Do not ask this of me, my lady,” Thomas Leverous pleaded with her. “I am fond of the boy. There is nothing for me here without him. I shall lose my position.”

  Nell sagged against the bedpost and looked up at the crucifix on the wall. “Holy Mother, give me strength,” she moaned, rubbing the ache in her back that intensified with every passing moment.

  Donal deemed it time to announce his presence. He stepped into the light. “It appears that I intrude,” he said, withdrawing his scian and testing the blade with his thumb, “but it grows late, and my men expect us.”

  Leverous flushed. “I ask your pardon, my lord, but I am Gerald’s tutor and would travel with you.”

  He almost felt sorry for the man. “We are unable to accommodate another rider, lad,” he said regretfully. “I am truly sorry.”

  Thomas moved in the direction of the door. “I shall ask you once again, O’Flaherty. Will you take me with you?”

  Donal shook his head, mindful of the tutor’s furtive movements. He was ready when the man bolted for the door. Quick as a cat, Donal was ahead of him, circling his neck with a restraining arm. Nell pushed the door shut and leaned against it.

  “You won’t get far,” Leverous gasped.

  Pressing his scian against the man’s throat, Donal swore. “Mallacht go deo air. Give me reason not to kill you.”

  Leverous strained to look at Nell and winced as the movement brought the knife blade in direct contact with his skin. “You would allow him to kill me?” he rasped.

  “You leave us no choice,” replied Nell.

  “I would be of great use to you,” begged Leverous. “Tell him, Nell.”

  “We cannot take you with us, Thomas,” she said softly, “and now it appears that we cannot leave you behind.”

  Donal’s arm tightened, and Leverous choked. “Do it quickly, then.”

  Across the room, Nell’s eyes met Donal’s, and something flashed between them. “Fe
tch the boy,” Donal said into the stillness, and Nell obeyed him.

  It did not suit him to skewer a man of letters, especially one who couldn’t tell one end of a sword from another. Donal lost no time. He pulled a chair into the corner and forced the tutor into it. After tearing the bed linens into strips, he fashioned them into ropes and tied Leverous to the chair. Then he tied his hands and feet and stuffed his mouth with cloth before following Nell into the adjoining room.

  Gerald was still groggy from sleep and mercifully asked no questions. Nell led them through the silent castle to a small retiring room near the great hall. Flickering torches lit the room. The walls were lined with sturdy oak, and on each panel was engraved a Lancastrian rose. She pressed against one of the panels, and a door, well concealed by the intricate carving, opened inward. “The passage leads to a clearing outside the walls,” she explained. “I found it only weeks ago.”

  Donal caught up a torch from a wall sconce and motioned for Nell and Gerald to precede him. Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Pray that no one else has discovered it,” he muttered, and lifted the torch above his head. The flames threw arcs of light against the roughly hewn walls, but he could see that it was definitely a passage. “Stay close beside me,” he said, and led the way through the silent tunnel.

  Nell had used the passageway once before, but Jillian had been with her. They’d left the door ajar and carried both a candle and a flaring torch. Even though no sunlight had ever found its way into the dark cavern, the knowledge that day would greet them at the end of their trek had brought Nell comfort. There was no comfort at all to be found on this journey.

  Her back ached severely now. It was bone-chillingly cold, and moisture dripped from the walls. Every whisper took on an eerie cadence, and, once, she brushed against something scurrying, furry and alive. She had recoiled in horror, but Donal continued his inhuman pace, and, because she was more terrified of being left behind than she was of rats, she continued to pull Gerald along behind her.

  At first, the passage had descended. Nell could feel the way the packed earth had fallen away and the way the pressure built on the balls of her feet. But now, just as surely as she had known they were traveling downward, she knew they were on their way up. Fresh air and the concealing forest were only steps away. Eagerly, she hurried forward, released Gerald’s hand to grasp Donal’s, and clambered up the slippery stone steps to the clearing.

  The night, with its half-moon and stars blanketing the sky, appeared bright as day. She breathed deeply and pressed her hand against her pain as she watched Donal pull Gerald out of the blackness. The lad, too spent for questions, leaned against her, and she placed her arm protectively around his shoulders and waited.

  Nell, watching the play of muscles under Donal’s shirt as he pulled back a boulder to conceal the passage, marveled at his confidence. What other man would walk boldly into a fortified castle and steal the wife and ward of a newly made earl? She saw him turn back toward the castle turrets, scanning them to judge his location. Deep in thought, she jumped when he laughed out loud.

  “The saints are with us, Nell,” he said. “We’ve come out less than a league from where my men are camped. If they’ve the sense for which I chose them, we should come upon a scouting party very soon.”

  Sure enough, five minutes had not passed before two riders materialized behind the trees and called out a warning.

  Donal’s voice rang crisply in the night air. “’Tis the O’Flaherty,” he announced. “I have the Geraldines.”

  Nell breathed a sigh of relief as one of the men dismounted to lift her into the saddle. Immediately, the pain receded. Donal climbed up behind her and settled Gerald between them, signaling the two men on the remaining horse to follow.

  She did not miss the relief on the faces of the O’Flaherty men when Donal rode into their camp unharmed. They were past ready to leave this land of haunted glens.

  Donal gave Gerald his own mount, but after one look at Nell’s pain-ravaged face, he decided to keep her with him. They rode through the night and reached the harbor town of Pembroke, where an O’Flaherty carrack, the Banshee, lay anchored in a hidden harbor.

  Riding with his arms around her, Donal felt the tightening and relaxing of Nell’s belly throughout the long night and believed he knew the reason for the agony reflected in her face. There was nothing to be done, no midwife to be found, no time for delay. He knew that Nell would keep her pain from him for as long as possible. He counted on the enormous pride she carried before her like a banner and did not acknowledge the labor that was most definitely upon her. Saying nothing, he pushed forward, ignoring the comments of his men, stubbornly refusing to stop for food or rest, until they reached the ship.

  Dismounting, he reached for her. She fell into his arms and attempted to stand. The blanket he’d wrapped around her parted, and he stared at the front of her gown. It was stained with fresh blood.

  She swayed and would have fallen, but he caught her in his arms and ran for the ship. Clumsy with the weight of her, he managed the climb onto the deck and disappeared into the companionway. The door to his cabin was shut. He kicked it open and placed her on the bed, shouting for his cabin boy. “Fetch the cook,” he said when the boy appeared. “Bring hot water and soap, twine and linen. Be quick.”

  The boy took one look at the moaning, bloodstained woman on the bed, and his face whitened. “Aye, sir, right away, sir.”

  Donal frowned. Conflicting emotions warred in his mind. To find Nell about to give birth had shaken him beyond words. He wanted no part of Robert Montgomery’s child. But he was a fair man, and he knew that women often had little choice in the hand fate dealt them. Nell had welcomed him with sincere pleasure, and not for a moment had she exhibited the slightest reluctance in leaving Montgomery. Even though she spoke highly of her treatment by her Welsh husband, nothing in her manner revealed that she had fallen in love with the man.

  The cook appeared in the hatchway with a bowl of hot water and a pile of clean linen. “I’m no midwife, sir,” he said immediately, “and y’ know how me hands shake without the rum.”

  “I wouldn’t trust you to touch her, Liam,” replied Donal tersely as he dipped the linen into the water and pushed Nell’s gown up to her waist. “Just see that the knife is sharp and the water is kept clean and hot.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. A few more pillows t’ lift her would ease the pain a mite.”

  Donal sponged down Nell’s legs and reached for the soap. “What would you know about it?”

  “At last count, I’ve eight of me own,” the cook confessed, “although six of ’em were born whilst I was at sea.”

  “Fetch more pillows, then,” Donal ordered. He had washed between Nell’s legs and cut away the soiled part of her gown. She lay on the bed staring up at him as unashamed as if he saw her spread-eagled and naked every day. “I’m sorry, Nell.” His voice was low and humble. The deck rolled beneath his feet. “It was too dangerous to stop before now.”

  She reached for his hand, clutched it, and smiled. “I’m glad he waited.”

  Was she rambling? “Who, lass?”

  “The babe. I wanted him to be born on Irish soil.”

  Donal shook his head and tried to smile. “Montgomery may not be so pleased.”

  Suddenly, Nell understood the reason for his coldness. She released his hand. Her eyes widened, and a look of pure outrage shone in their golden lights. “Robert has nothing to do with this, Donal.” She spoke carefully so there would be no misunderstanding. “The child is an O’Flaherty, and his life should begin as his parents’ did, in Ireland.”

  The incredible words swept over him, and his face stilled. Nell’s child was his, not Montgomery’s. She had conceived that very night, the only night, they’d lain together. And yet she’d married Montgomery. He stared down at her. She was so sure the child was
his. How could she be so very sure, unless—

  Realization dawned, followed by relief and a shattering happiness that turned his legs to jelly. Weakly, he leaned against the wall.

  Nell felt the pain coming, sharper and deeper and longer than any that had come before, and she gathered her resources to bear it. “Never mind,” she said, hearing the words he’d left unsaid. “We know little of each other, after all.” The pain mounted, surging, inevitable. “Help me, Donal,” she gasped. “Help me.”

  Instinctively, Donal leaned over the bed and spread his hands over her stomach. It was tight as the skin of a drum, and it leaped and bucked beneath his touch like a thing alive. Nell’s lips were bitten raw, and her gown was soaked with blood and sweat. The cook hovered anxiously at the entrance to the cabin.

  “What is happening?” Donal asked him.

  “’Tis the child straining to be born.”

  “Why must it take so long?”

  “The first is always so. ’Twill be hours yet.”

  “No!” Nell tensed for the next round of pain and lifted tortured eyes to Donal’s face. “Please, Donal. Give me your hands, and speak no more.”

  Her grip was bone-crushing. Time passed. Donal lost count of the hours. Her legs were slick with sweat, and her hair hung close to her head, wet and lank on the pillow. Birthing blood drenched the sheets, and the primitive smell of it filled the cabin.

  By the time her daughter’s head made its appearance, Nell had nearly given up the fight. Her face was bloodless, and the bones were very prominent under her tightly drawn skin. Beneath her closed lids, her eyes looked twice their normal size.

  The cook pointed to the place between her legs that began to separate. “’Tis the head,” he exclaimed excitedly. “She must push now. The wee un is nearly born.”

  “Did you hear, Nell?” Donal leaned close to her lips and spoke against them. “You must push now, love. The babe is nearly born.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and then parted. “I don’t want to.”