by Ruth Langan
“Liberties?” Kieran struggled to swallow his smile. If the lass were not so furious, this would be laughable. “Megan, listen to me. I knew that Nola was—” he chose his words carefully and kept his tone low enough that the captain would not overhear “—intrigued by a stranger to her island. And I surmised that by charming her I could persuade her father to take us across the channel. But the wench meant nothing more to me than a chance to escape.”
“You would smile and be charming in order to get what you wanted?”
His smile faded. He was not proud of what he had done. “Aye.”
“Then I must believe that you would do the same with me, my lord. That kiss we shared meant nothing more than that smile you gave to the captain’s daughter.”
“Damn you.” He caught her by the upper arms and dragged her roughly against him until their faces were mere inches apart. Staring deeply into her eyes, he bit off each word with fury. Even now he wanted her with a desperation that left him trembling. “I will not be questioned like some smooth-cheeked lad. I make no apology for the captain’s daughter. I would have done anything to escape the hangman’s soldiers. I would beg, steal, even kill before I would return to that hell of a prison in England. I swear by all that is holy, I will remain a free man and return to my land. Land,” he added with venom, “that no man will ever take from me again.”
They stared at each other in silence. With the wind whipping his hair and clothes and his face a grim mask of fury, he looked at her with fire in his eyes.
“And as for what we just shared…” For long moments Kieran studied her, and she was struck by the depth of his anger. Through gritted teeth he said, “I suppose you expect an apology for my moment of passion. But I make no such apology, my lady.”
As he strode away and took up an oar, Megan watched him with a look of wonder. Touching a finger to her lips, she heard his words echoing through her mind. A moment of passion. Aye, he had proven himself a man of many passions. But somehow, discovering how much he detested any weakness in himself, it only made their brief kiss all the sweeter.
Rolling herself into the sheepskin, she huddled in the corner of the craft and tried to blot out the sound of the raging storm. It could not compare with the storm that was suddenly raging in her heart. A storm of feelings so alien to her she could not even give it a name.
Chapter Eight
Megan rocked back and forth, cradled in the arms of an old woman whose face she could not see. But the woman’s words were plain enough.
“Ye must not give in to that temper, lass. Ye’ve a temper as fierce as your father’s. It is not proper for a lass to swear so. Ye must study your mother’s gentle ways. She is a true lady, as ye will be when ye are grown. Make your old nurse proud, lass. Try harder for old Morna.”
The old woman began to hum a tune as she rocked back and forth, back and forth.
The voice faded until it was no more than the sigh of the wind. But her name lingered. Old Morna. Old Morna.
A gentle breeze lifted a strand of Megan’s hair, then just as abruptly dropped it. She opened her eyes. For a moment she had no idea where she was. Then, at the gentle rocking motion, it all came back to her in a rush.
She was on the boat crossing the North Channel. She gazed at the cloudless sky. The sunlight was warm upon her face. The storm had fled some time during the night.
Morna. A first glimmer of memory had returned. She hugged the thought to her heart. She had another name, besides her own. Morna. Old Morna. Megan wondered who she was. An elderly aunt or cousin perhaps? A servant? No matter. It would come to her. At least she had the beginnings of a memory.
She glanced around at the others, who lay sleeping. The captain had managed to steer the boat to land. Though the craft was not beached, it bobbed in the surf very near shore, held there by the force of the tide. The captain, exhausted from the night’s ordeal, lay asleep at the tiller. Colin was stretched out in the middle of the boat, the oar still in his hand.
Only Kieran was awake. He leaned a hip against the rail and stared hungrily at the land beyond the rocky shore.
Megan studied his proud profile and wondered what drove him. He had survived brutal beatings in prison. He had risked death by drowning and by sword to reach this land. Now that he was here, would he find the peace he sought?
She got to her feet and stared at this land that claimed Kieran’s heart. Long fingers of rock seemed to reach far out into the ocean. The shore was strewn with rock. In the distance were rolling green hills, dotted with thatched-roof cottages. Here and there sheep grazed. It was not unlike the land they had left behind. Her land, she thought with a sudden twinge. Her home now lay far beyond the body of water they had just crossed.
Seeing that she was awake, Kieran moved to her side, taking care not to touch her. He had become much too aware of the lass, a flaw he would take pains to correct.
“Welcome to Ireland, my lady.”
She turned to him. “Is your home far from here?”
“Not far. A day’s walk.”
“Will we wake Colin?”
Kieran glanced at his sleeping brother. “Nay. Let the lad rest awhile longer. The crossing sorely taxed him.” He held out his hand. “Come, my lady. I am eager to set foot on Irish soil.”
She took his hand and once again felt the strength in his grip. The thought of the kiss they had shared last night sent her cheeks flaming. But though she ducked her head to avoid his gaze, she was still painfully aware of his nearness.
Together they climbed from the boat and picked their way through foaming surf and over rocks until they stood on dry land.
“Ahh. Smell it, lass. Feel it.”
Kieran lifted his face to the sun and took in deep breaths of air. “I carried the perfume of home in my heart all those long days in prison.”
“Did you fear you might never see your home again?”
“Never.” His tone was low and deep with passion. “The prison has not been built that could keep me from this place. I always knew I would see Ireland again.”
This was a passion she could understand and share. Though her land lay far across the North Channel, she knew she would see Scotland again. There was no man who would say otherwise. When her memory returned to her, she would claim her destiny.
They heard the others stirring and turned to see Colin pulling himself over the rail of the boat.
“Are we really home, Kieran?”
“Aye. You fell asleep just before we touched the shore.”
“’Twas a grueling journey. I thought the storm would succeed where Fleet and the hangman’s soldiers had failed.”
“Aye. But we endured. And we are home.”
As the captain walked to the side of the boat and peered at them, she had a sudden thought. “What will happen when Captain MacLachlan discovers that you have not been sent by the Queen and that there is no fortune?”
Kieran touched a hand to the pouch of gold that hung from his waist. “The good captain has earned his gold. And as for the rest of my story,” he added with a smile, “he need never know. Let him boast to his grandchildren that he was once in service to the Queen.”
While Megan and Colin exchanged laughter, Kieran climbed aboard the vessel and settled his account with the captain. A short time later they stood on the shore and waved as the boat headed across the North Channel.
“He will have much to relate.”
“Aye,” Kieran said with a laugh. “By the time the story is told and retold, Captain MacLachlan will probably have supped with the bloody English Queen in her ship’s cabin.”
“And advised her on the best route to England.” Colin wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
Watching them, Megan thought how wonderful it was to see these two brothers share a laugh. No matter what they had been through, they were home.
“The captain was good enough to leave us the food and water his daughter so generously provided.” Kieran spread his cloak on the grass and handed C
olin and Megan chunks of cold mutton. “Another debt I owe to Nola,” Kieran said in an aside to Megan that had her blushing furiously.
Kieran was relieved to see that Megan’s appetite had returned. Whatever sickness she had suffered at the hands of the storm was now gone. Even her color had improved since she had set foot on dry land. Her eyes danced with anticipation, and her cheeks bloomed a becoming shade of pink.
When they had eaten their fill Kieran picked up his cloak and led the way, with Megan and Colin following. They walked for hours beneath a gentle sun that warmed their backs.
“Is it not a fair land?” Kieran asked.
Megan had taken note of the lush green fields, the sparkling waters, the plump sheep. “Aye. It is a bonnie land.”
For some reason that Kieran did not wish to dwell upon, her response gave him great pleasure. It should not matter to him that the lass liked his land. But it did.
In the warmth of the sun Megan had removed her cloak and draped it across her arm. Kieran watched the sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head as she walked. He knew of no other woman who could look so stunning in shapeless men’s clothing. He shot her an admiring glance. Another woman would have complained about the journey on foot but Megan simply strode along with all the grace and poise of a sleek young cat.
At midday they paused to cool their feet in the bubbling waters of a brook. Removing her kid boots, Megan rolled up her breeches and waded through the shallows. But when the image of Wilkes, the captain of the guard, flashed through her mind, her smile suddenly vanished. For a moment he thought she saw his bloated body floating toward her. She blinked, and the image disappeared. She felt a shiver of fear and wrapped her arms around herself.
From his position on shore Kieran saw her turn abruptly and retreat from the water. In swift strides he was by her side.
“What is it, my lady? What frightened you?”
She shook off his hand. “It was nothing. A sudden chill.”
He watched as she pulled on her boots and turned away. Though they lingered there a short while longer, she resolutely refused to go near the brook. When at last they resumed their journey, she never looked back.
“There. See.” Colin pointed. “Killamara. And just beyond, Castle O’Mara.”
He ran until he was at the top of the hill. Behind him Kieran and Megan broke into a run. When they reached the top they stared in silence.
Below them the land was lush and green. In the distance were a series of small villages ringing a magnificent castle built on a hill. The turrets of the castle seemed to touch the clouds that hovered just above.
Megan glanced at Colin, then at Kieran. Their faces were transformed. Both men wore similar looks of naked hunger.
“Come.” Kieran’s strides were hurried, purposeful as he led the way down the hill. “We will be home before nightfall.”
They followed a well-worn trail toward a small village. As they passed the first cottage, they saw a young woman stare at them, then lower her head shyly before disappearing inside a thatched-roof dwelling.
A few minutes later a man stepped through the doorway and called out, “Is it truly Black Kieran O’Mara?”
The three paused and turned. Kieran saw the way the man studied him, searching for some sign of recognition. His hand went to the growth of black beard that covered his neck and chin. Realizing that the beard obscured his identity, he raised his hand in a sign of welcome and the man strode forward to clasp it.
“God be praised. My lord. You are alive.”
“As you can see, I am very much alive, Robert. You are a feast for my eyes.”
“As you are, my lord. My Deidre said it was you. I did not believe her. We’d heard you were killed in an English prison.” The man paused a moment. “Your mother does not know you are here?”
“Nay, Robert. No one knows.”
“Then you must not tarry, for her grief has been great. I would be very honored, my lord, if you would accept the use of my horses for the rest of your journey.”
Kieran smiled. “We would be in your debt.”
Robert called out to several young lads who scurried away and returned leading three sleek horses, saddled and ready. As the three prepared to mount, Robert placed his hand on Colin’s arm.
“Colin? You have changed even more than your brother.” His eyes lit. “Oh, there will be much rejoicing in Killamara this night.”
“Aye.” Colin clasped the man’s hand. “Was my death rumored, as well?”
“Aye, my lord. All of Killamara has grieved the loss of the O’Mara heirs.”
“Then we will plan a celebration,” Kieran said, winking at his brother. “For we have returned from the dead to assume our rightful place in our homeland.”
As they wheeled their mounts, Kieran called, “Your horses will be returned to you on the morrow.”
“They are yours for as long as you have need of them. God go with you, my lord.”
“And you, Robert.”
The three riders urged their horses into a run. As they passed through the village a great cry went up from the people, who spilled from their cottages to shout their welcome to the lords of the manor.
Megan sensed the affection of these people and was strangely moved by it. Tears filled her eyes, and she was forced to blink them away. What must it be like, she wondered, to be so loved by so many good people? Was there someone now, in that far-off land, mourning her? Had there been family, friends who loved her?
As Kieran led the way, Megan turned to Colin. “Why is he called Black Kieran O’Mara?”
Colin shrugged. “Some would say it is because of his dark hair and eyes. But those who have faced him in battle will tell you he earned the name for the black rage that drives him. Woe to his enemies who would deny him his birthright.”
Black Kieran O’Mara. As they left the village behind and raced across a series of gently rolling meadows, Megan thought about the strange and complicated man who piqued her interest.
Megan stared at the turrets of the castle gleaming in late afternoon sunlight. Directly in front of the structure lay a glimmering lake whose smooth surface mirrored the castle above it. Swans glided across the water, adding to the peaceful beauty of the scene.
As the three entered a wide cobbled courtyard, a small, hunched gnome of a man hurried forward. For long minutes he stared at the two bearded men astride their horses. When recognition dawned, his face convulsed as he fought back tears.
“My lord Kieran. My lord Colin.” His lips trembled, and he struggled for control.
“Aye, Padraig. We have finally come home.” Kieran slid from the saddle and caught the man in a great hug.
The door opened and a plump woman paused a moment before letting out a shriek. At her cry dozens of servants came running. Soon they all milled around in the doorway and windows, shouting and crying.
Into this confusion a single figure strode. The sea of servants parted. The din of voices fell silent. From her position astride her horse, Megan watched as a beautiful woman paused for a moment in the doorway and stared at the two men. Her shock was evident. The woman put a hand to her mouth to stifle her little cry before she flew into Kieran’s outstretched arms.
“Oh, Kieran. Kieran. My darling. You’ve come back to us.”
“Aye, Mother.” He lifted her in his arms and swung her around, then released her into Colin’s outstretched arms where she fell against him with a sigh.
“They told us you were dead, that you had both died in Fleet Prison.” Her hands stroked their faces, their arms, as if to assure herself that they were truly alive and not just something she had imagined.
“As you can see, we are very much alive.” Kieran gave her another kiss before crossing to Megan. In one sweeping gesture he lifted her from the saddle and set her on her feet.
“Mother, I would like to present the lady Megan, who aided our escape. Megan, this is my mother, Lady Katherine O’Mara.”
Choosing to ignore the odd cloth
ing on the lass, Lady Katherine caught her hands in a firm grip. “You aided their escape? Then I am forever in your debt, my dear.”
Megan found herself staring into deep blue eyes set in an exquisite face. Thick black hair had been fixed in a coronet of curls around a face that showed neither a wrinkle nor a line. Her somber black gown was of finest watered silk.
Megan became even more aware of her own shabby state in the company of this elegant woman.
A girl of about six, her feet bare, her dress stained with the juice of blackberries, pushed her way through the crowd of servants to stare at the strangers in their midst. A wild tangle of red curls fell nearly to her ankles.
“God in heaven. Bridget,” Lady Katherine called, “were you off in the bog again?” Her face filled with pain as she drew the girl close in a fierce embrace. “My darling, you know it is forbidden to you. You could have been sucked down into the mire and never found.” When the child made no response, Lady Katherine whispered, “Forgive my outburst. My heart, I fear, has been too battered of late.” Catching the girl’s hand she said, “Come and greet your uncles.”
Seeing the bearded strangers, the girl hung back.
“Is it truly Bridget?” Kieran opened his arms. “You’ve grown so much, lass, I would not know you.”
Still the girl pulled away, feeling suddenly shy.
Megan whispered, “It is your beard, my lord. The poor child probably does not know you.”
The child glanced at Megan, then at the man who faced her.
“Aye.” Kieran knelt on the cobblestones and opened his arms to the girl. “I am your Uncle Kieran, and this is your Uncle Colin. Have you forgotten us already?”
A shy smile touched the girl’s lips. “You look like the drawings of ancient warriors Grandmother made for me.”