by Ruth Langan
In his chambers he was pleased to see that Mistress Peake had sent a tray of food to break his fast. He ate slowly, savoring the fine meal. He would miss Mistress Peake’s cooking when he returned to the monastery.
When he had finished eating, he looked up as his aide, Father Malone, entered.
“Sir Cecil requests an audience.”
“Aye. Send him in.” With a frown the bishop strode to the fireplace and stood with his hands behind his back.
Bishop O’Mara had carefully cultivated the friendship of his sister-in-law’s countryman. Cecil Kettering was, after all, a close confidante of the Queen. And the bishop knew that if Sir Cecil should be the one to bring about peace between Ireland and England, the powers in Rome would not be able to ignore him any longer. He was certain that Sir Cecil cultivated the bishop’s friendship for the same reason. Elizabeth would be most grateful to subdue the troublesome island that continually threatened the peace of her empire.
“Excellency.” Sir Cecil entered briskly and bowed his head ever so slightly before taking the seat Father Malone indicated.
The bishop’s aide sat behind a desk and began to work on the bishop’s mountain of papers.
“You told my aide that your business with me was most urgent, Sir Cecil. What is it you wish?”
“I wish your blessing, Excellency.” Sir Cecil gave him a smug smile.
“Blessing? And what is it I will be blessing?”
“My betrothal.”
“Ahh. You intend to wed again. That is good,” the bishop said, lapsing into one of his favorite sermons. Cecil Kettering’s wife had been dead for nearly a score of years. He had heard that Sir Cecil had become a bit of a rake at court. As had his son, James. A wife might be the very thing he needed to settle down into the proper life of a gentleman.
“It is not good for man to be alone,” the bishop said.
“I quite agree. And I have been alone too long now.”
“I do not understand why you need my blessing, Sir Cecil. Since you are not of our faith and your life in England does not affect us here in Ireland, I see no reason for this audience.”
“Ahh, but my marriage will affect you and everyone here in Killamara, Excellency.”
Bishop O’Mara lifted a brow.
“I have asked the Lady Katherine to be my wife.” Sir Cecil nearly laughed aloud at the bishop’s expression. The pompous old fool was choking on every word. “And she has graciously accepted.”
When he could find his voice, the bishop said, “I could not possibly bless such a union. You are not of our faith.”
“Such marriages are often allowed. It is within your realm of power to do so. And I believe, when I have finished explaining what I will do in return for your blessing, that you will see the wisdom of it.”
Sir Cecil spoke briskly, enjoying every minute of the bishop’s discomfort. He had no doubt he would have what he desired. He had carefully calculated every move.
Megan paced her room, feeling like a caged bird. All of the castle was buzzing with the news of Lady Katherine’s betrothal to Sir Cecil Kettering. As they broke their fast, James had boasted to everyone about his father’s plans even before Lady Katherine had been given a chance to share the news with her sons.
They had taken the news badly. Colin had pushed himself away from the table and fled the castle. Terence O’Byrne had reported that Cara was missing, as well. No one had seen Colin or Cara since.
Kieran had closed himself in the library. He had spoken to no one since he had heard the news.
It was reported that the bishop was preparing to return to the monastery at Donegal as soon as the wedding ceremony was concluded. He had already presided over the official betrothal. Sir Cecil had insisted upon having the simple ceremony immediately. It had been performed in the chapel with only the priests and the lady’s personal servants in attendance.
Even Aileen, Megan’s little maid, had lost her smile, as had all the servants. It was as if there had been a death in the castle.
As Megan watched from her balcony, Lady Katherine and Hugh Cleary pulled themselves into the saddle. Sir Cecil and James, laughing together, rounded the corner. Sir Cecil’s smile faded.
His voice, raised in anger, was easily discernible to Megan on the balcony. “What is this? Is my betrothed planning to travel in the company of another man?”
“We go to the village, Cecil.”
“Or so you say. How am I to know this is not a tryst?”
Lady Katherine’s face flamed. Hugh leaned down from the saddle. His hand snaked out and caught Sir Cecil by the front of his tunic. Instantly Lady Katherine lifted imploring eyes to Hugh, who promptly released his hold on Cecil.
“There is a very sick child in the village, Cecil. I must tend her.”
Smoothing his tunic, Cecil took the reins from old Padraig’s hand and shot Hugh a look of smug confidence. “I will not have my betrothed caring for the villagers like some lowborn midwife.”
“Cecil, I have always cared for the sick and impoverished of the village. It is expected.”
He did not attempt to hide his disdain. In clipped tones he said, “They will soon learn that such things must change.” Without waiting for her approval, he hauled her from the saddle and caught her arm. “You will send one of your servants, my dear.”
Lady Katherine’s face darkened with confusion. “You cannot be serious, Cecil.”
His voice lowered ominously. Turning to Hugh, he said, “Is the child in danger of dying?”
“Aye.” Hugh’s dark eyes burned with unconcealed hatred. Were it not for Lady Katherine, he could put a knife through this peacock’s heart.
“Then I cannot have you exposed to danger, my dear.” With a firm grasp of her arm, Cecil steered her toward the door of the castle and gave her a chilling smile. “We will fetch one of your servants immediately. And you,” he said, turning once more to Hugh Cleary, “have partaken of our hospitality long enough.”
Lady Katherine turned to Sir Cecil with a stunned look. “Hugh is a guest here. He is welcome to stay as long as he chooses.”
“He will choose to leave as soon as we are wed,” Sir Cecil said curtly.
Megan stood very still, unable to believe what she had just seen. Crossing her arms over her chest, she began to pace. How could a fine lady like Katherine agree to marry such a cold bully?
At a knock on her door she turned. She crossed the room and opened the door to find Hugh Cleary standing with his fist raised, about to knock again. Though the anger still seethed inside him, he had carefully composed his features.
“Forgive me, lass,” he said softly. “But I recall that Kieran told me you are a healer.”
“Aye. I…overheard Lady Katherine and Sir Cecil, Hugh. I will gladly do what I can. Tell me what is needed.”
He thought about his aching heart. But there was no cure for it. The child was another matter. “There is a child in the village who is dying, lass. Lady Katherine was about to visit again, since it is reported that the child grows weaker. Will you see her?”
“Of course.” Megan retrieved her cloak from a peg and tossed it over her arm before following Hugh Cleary to the stables. In his arms was a basket containing warm linens, as well as a flask of hot broth provided by Mistress Peake.
Within minutes they were racing toward the village.
At the crofter’s cottage, Megan felt the suspicious stares of the child’s father and mother as Hugh explained why they had come.
“If she is friend to Lady Katherine, why has she come alone?” the crofter asked, barring her way.
“You are wasting time,” Hugh said with an edge to his voice. “Allow the lass to enter.”
“Nay.” The crofter’s wife joined him in the doorway. “She is not one of us. She cannot touch our child.”
“If Kieran O’Mara orders you to allow the lady to enter, will you obey?”
“Aye,” the crofter said, his eyes narrowed in anger. “But my lord O’Mara would neve
r allow a stranger to usurp his mother’s place.”
With an angry oath, Hugh led Megan to a grassy spot beneath a tree. “Rest, lass. I will return as soon as I can.”
Hugh leaped on his horse and urged it into a run. Megan watched as the trail of dust marked his hasty journey to the castle. Within the hour another cloud of dust rose up, signaling the return of Hugh. Riding alongside him was Kieran. From the gossiping servants he had already heard the story of his mother’s scene with Sir Cecil. His fury was a terrible thing to witness.
“Have you insulted a guest in my home?” Kieran shouted at the crofter.
“Nay, my lord. But Lady Katherine has always cared for the sick among us.”
“Lady Megan is here with my mother’s blessing,” Kieran said in thunderous tones. “Step aside and allow the lady to enter.”
Inside the cottage, Megan examined the girl who lay so pale and still. While the others watched, she listened to the fluid that clogged the girl’s lungs, then touched a hand to the fever that burned her skin. At first she was aware of the hostility of the parents, who hovered nearby watching her every move. But as she worked over the child, she soon forgot her uneasiness. The girl was dangerously weak. She would soon be lost to them.
“I need to find a damp, cool place, where certain herbs and roots grow.”
“There is a river nearby. I will take you,” Kieran said.
“I will return soon,” Megan told the crofter. “Fill as many kettles as you can and put them on the fire.”
“I will see that it is done,” Hugh said, lifting a heavy kettle from a peg near the wall. He was taking no chances that the crofter and his wife might try to hide their child from this stranger.
With Kieran leading the way, Megan walked to the edge of the forest that ringed the village. Coming to a small stream, she followed it, picking herbs and roots as she did. When her arms were full, she returned to the cottage and began grinding the plants into a paste, while the crofter and his wife watched. When she had folded the paste inside a piece of soft cloth, she applied it to the girl’s chest.
“This poultice will draw out the poisons,” she explained.
The kettles, which had been filled at a stream and placed on the fire, began to boil. Soon a great cloud of steam billowed around the small cottage. “We must keep these kettles filled and boiling. The steam will aid in the child’s healing.”
Kieran and Hugh seemed relieved to have something important to do. For the next several hours while Megan knelt by the girl’s side and applied fresh poultices, the men hauled water from the stream and kept the kettles boiling.
As he worked, Kieran studied the young woman who knelt by the child and labored, hour after hour, to ply her healing powers. Her hair had pried loose from the neat plait, sending little tendrils to curl around her neck and cheeks. The steam from the kettles caused the tendrils to curl damply. Her gown was stained from the plants she had picked. As the late afternoon sunshine slanted through the small window, lengthening the shadows in the cottage, he could sense her weariness. But she neither slowed her pace nor took a moment to rest. It was one more reason he loved her.
Love.
He stood, his sleeves rolled above the elbows, his arms straining beneath the weight of two buckets filled with water. Aye. There was no longer any way he could deny it. He loved her. Loved her for all the reasons he had tried to deny. And loved her for no reason at all. He simply knew that he loved her.
Chapter Sixteen
Megan lay on a pallet beside the child. Sometime after a hurried meal of cold mutton and crusty bread, she had fallen asleep. It had been her first food since breaking her fast early that morning. Now, in the hour before midnight, she awoke to find the child peering at her.
The steam from the bubbling kettles cast a hazy mist over everything in the cottage. For a moment Megan felt strangely disoriented. Then, recovering quickly, she touched a hand to the child’s forehead. The fever was gone.
“How do you feel?” she whispered.
“Hungry.”
Megan gave a delighted laugh and hugged her. “Then you shall eat. What is your name?”
“Roanna, my lady. Who are you?”
“I am Megan.”
The child reached a hand to Megan’s hair and said with a trace of wonder, “I thought you were an angel, my lady, sent from heaven to watch over me.”
The sound of their voices roused the others. Within moments Hugh and Kieran, lying on pallets beneath the window, sat up and watched as the crofter and his wife rushed to the little girl’s side.
“Oh, my darling,” the mother cried. “Are you truly back with us?”
“I did not leave you,” the girl said, her lips curving into a hesitant smile.
“Nay. But we feared for a while that you would abandon us for that other world.” Her father wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter, then looked at Megan. “My lady, forgive me for my foolish suspicions. You have given us back our little one. Our humble cottage is yours. As is everything we own.”
Megan’s smile reflected her joy. “The recovery of your daughter is all the reward I desire.”
“You performed a miracle, my lady,” the child’s mother said, wiping tears of joy from her eyes.
“It was no miracle. I am grateful that I learned the art of healing.” Then, at a new thought, she said, “I could teach you and the other women of the village about the herbs and roots I use in healing. And you could pass it on to your children.”
“We would be most grateful, my lady.”
“It shall be done. I will leave it to Lady Katherine to choose a time and place.”
The grateful parents fell on their knees and kissed her hand. Embarrassed and touched by their show of affection, Megan lifted shining eyes to Kieran.
He took her cloak from a peg and wrapped it around her. “Come, Megan. We must return to Castle O’Mara. Our work here is done.”
“Thank you, my lord, for bringing this lady to us,” the man said.
“Aye.” Kieran studied Megan with a strange look in his dark eyes. “We are all blessed for having the lady here.” Catching her hand, he gave a last glance at the happy parents and their smiling child and led her from the cottage.
As they made their way on horseback in the darkness toward the lights of the castle, Hugh said softly, “You may say ’twas merely the proper use of a few herbs and roots, my dear. But what I saw this night was truly a miracle. Your knowledge of healing goes beyond anything we know. Our people have rarely taken to a stranger with such affection.” He turned to Kieran, whose look was devouring the woman beside him. “Is that not true, Kieran?”
“Aye.” Kieran smiled and Megan felt her heart leap. “You have forever made a place for yourself among my people, my lady.”
His words touched her. For the rest of the journey to the castle she felt bathed in a warm glow.
As they entered the courtyard, they saw old Padraig hobbling toward them from the stables, his hunched back covered by a warm cloak.
“Does he ever sleep?” Megan whispered.
“He naps. But the minute he hears the clatter of hoofbeats, he is awake and eager to perform his duties. It was thus for my father and his father before him. He loves the animals. And they return his love. They do not judge by his appearance, as men do.”
Kieran slid from the saddle and tossed the reins to the waiting old man. Then he helped Megan from the saddle.
Hugh clapped a hand on Kieran’s shoulder, then lifted Megan’s hand to his lips. “I am grateful for the chance to share this day with you, my dear.”
“It is I who am grateful, Hugh, for the chance to repay the kindness I have been shown by these good people.”
“I bid you both good-night,” Hugh said before striding away.
As Megan and Kieran made their way to their chambers, Kieran instructed a servant to bring them food and drink. Then, glancing at Megan, he said, “Perhaps you are too tired to eat, my lady.”
“Nay. I
am far too excited to sleep just yet.” She entered the sitting chamber and began to pace in front of the fire while he filled two goblets with ale. “And now that my task is completed, I realize I am ravenous.”
The little maid, Aileen, hurried into the room, eager to prepare her mistress for sleep so that she could slip off to her own bed.
“Oh, my lady. I have been waiting up for you,” she said. Then, seeing Kieran in the sitting chamber, she bowed her head and began to withdraw. “Forgive me, my lord. I thought the lady was alone.”
Megan knew that the servant could not retire until her task was completed. Recognizing her distress, she said to Kieran, “Excuse me, my lord. I will be but a few moments.”
As she crossed the room she saw him stride to the fireplace and stare deeply into the flames as he lifted the goblet to his lips. He seemed filled with a restless energy.
Following Aileen into her sleeping chamber, Megan allowed her maid to remove her soiled clothes. While Megan washed herself in a small basin, the little maid brought forward a clean gown for her approval.
“Nay, Aileen. I will dress for bed.”
“But my lord O’Mara…”
“Will not mind if I do not dress appropriately to sup with him.” Her laughter trilled in the quiet of the room. “I know that Mistress Peake would have your hide if she thought you did not prepare me for bed before taking your own rest. So,” she added conspiratorially, “you shall prepare me for bed and then you will retire for the night.”
“Oh, my lady. You are so kind and thoughtful.” Aileen laid out a nightgown of palest ivory.
“Nay. I am merely being practical. You need your sleep. And I needed to be rid of those soiled clothes.” As she dressed, Megan felt the whisper of silk against her skin. Over the nightgown Aileen helped her into a flowing robe of ivory silk inset with delicate lace on the collar and wide sleeves.
Aileen brushed Megan’s hair until it gleamed, then caught it up in two ivory combs.
“Do you require anything more, my lady?”
“Nay, Aileen. Go now and take your rest. Mistress Peake cannot accuse you of shirking your duties.”
“Good night, my lady. And thank you.” The little maid stifled a yawn as she made her way across the room.