Barbara Leigh

by For Love of Rory

  In their own euphoria the villagers joked about those less fortunate, forgetting that had it not been for Rory and Serine their laughter would have been shallow and their lives bleak.

  When they laughed at Rory they laughed at Serine, also, and, as the summer came upon them and the women waxed plump and round, Rory decided he had had enough. On a perfect summer’s morn Rory McLir went to confront his brother.

  “Rory, what brings you here this fine morning?” Guthrie left his place at Damask’s side and came toward the younger man.

  “I am going on a voyage,” Rory told him. “I need some men to accompany me.”

  “I see no problem with that,” Guthrie agreed without bothering to question further. “I only ask that the men go of their own free will. I do not think any man should be away from his wife when the long-awaited children are born.”

  “I could not agree more,” Rory told him. “And I give my word that not one soul will accompany me unless that person truly wants to go.”

  Guthrie slipped his arm about his wife, his attention taken again by the woman who carried his child. This time he did not think of his brother’s plight. Guthrie’s thoughts hovered more and more about Damask and his own happiness.

  Rory directed his next comment to Damask. “Should I not return in time to see your child born, I wish you luck and an easy birth.”

  “But surely you cannot plan to be gone any great length of time,” Damask objected. “Where would you go?”

  “I’m going to Sheffield,” he said, “and I do not know when I will return.” He swung about on his heel and was gone before the astonished couple could collect themselves enough to call him back.

  “You must stop him,” Damask warned her husband. “He will be killed if he sets foot on English soil, and the men with him, also. ‘Tis a great price to pay just to see the woman you love.”

  But Guthrie would not budge. “Think, woman! There is no man here who will risk life and limb to join Rory in his journey at this time. When my brother learns the demeanor of the men, he will give this folly second thought.”

  “Or he may go alone,” Damask suggested.

  “That would be foolhardy,” Guthrie declared, “and I doubt Rory would do such a thing, even for love.”

  Damask would have said more, but her husband silenced her with a kiss. “Should we have any reason to believe Rory plans to go to Sheffield alone, I will speak to him,” he promised, and Damask had to be satisfied with his decision.

  * * *

  Throughout the next days Rory mingled with his people, trying to ferret out anyone who would make the commitment of going to Sheffield with him. At the end of the week he had spoken to every man in the village and not a one was willing to go.

  “I know you are grieving for your lady, but she will surely be at Sheffield no matter when you arrive. There is no need for such haste, since it cannot be more than a clandestine meeting at best,” Tavish observed. “Besides, there’s not a one of us wants to be away from the Croft when the women start birthing their babes. It’s too long we’ve waited and we’ll not be denied.”

  As Rory was leaving one of the cottages, he felt a tug on his cloak. He looked down and recognized one of the children stolen from Sheffield.

  “What is it, lad?” he asked as he gazed into the child’s solemn face.

  “I would go with you,” the little boy said. “The people here are good to me, but I miss my mum and da. I long to see my brothers and sisters again and I want to go home to Sheffield.”

  “Is your family here not kind to you?” Rory asked.

  “Aye, they are kind, but soon there will be a new babe and they will forget about me in their excitement.” He rubbed a grubby hand across his eyes. “Truly, my lord, they do not need me anymore, and I want to go home.”

  Rory contemplated the child for a long time. The boy was too young to appreciate the distinction of being a freeman rather than a serf. His thoughts were those of loneliness, and he clung to the memory of the family he knew and loved.

  “Are there other children who feel as you do?” Rory asked gently.

  The boy nodded. “You won’t punish them if I tell you who they are?”

  “You won’t be punished and neither will they,” Rory promised.

  The boy gave the names of several other children and told Rory where they lived. There were four altogether. They were about the same age. The older children had seen the advantages of living here, while the younger children were little more than babes and had adapted well to their new environment, bonding quickly to their adopted families.

  The children who wanted to return and a grown man would fit comfortably into one skiff. It took but a knowledgeable seaman to handle such a small craft. The greatest danger was the sea itself and the ever-threatening storms that might overtake them. Still, it was worth a chance. Besides, it was the only chance he had.

  Rory had already spoken to the men in the households into which the children had been placed and knew that all but one of their wives was pregnant. Since the barren couple was somewhat older, there was the chance that the woman would not conceive regardless of how scrupulously she administered the bitter brew. Rory decided not to tempt fate. He would leave the young Sheffield child with the older couple. The other three children he would return to Sheffield in the hope they would buy him the right to see Serine.

  There was no other choice. The men of the Croft would not consider accompanying him in the fear they would miss the long-awaited births of their children. It concerned them not that Rory’s child would be born in a foreign land, away from his paternal heritage. It seemed to matter little that Rory himself had given his all to see to it that the wishes of his people came to pass.

  Serine had been correct in her wry assessment of the situation. Unless there was a funeral or a celebration, the people of Corvus Croft cared little for anything other than their own endeavors.

  Not one of the men for whom Rory had risked his life was willing to give his time and strength to try to allow Rory to find fulfillment in his own life, even though Rory had given his all for those who denied him in this, his hour of need.

  Rory had no question in his mind, nor hesitation in his heart. He would take the youngsters who wished to return to the families of their birth and leave those who chose to remain. He set about to put his plan into motion. He would go to Serine and lay his heart and his life at her feet. If she had meant what she’d told him the day he left to face the invader, and she had not left of her own free will, she would welcome him and see the truth and the sacrifice of his offering.

  If Serine had no desire other than to remain unhampered in Sheffield, Rory would most like die, and gladly. For denied the woman he loved and the child she carried, life was without meaning.

  His own people would not share his misery, nor would they help to alleviate it. He owed them nothing. Serine and Rory had given his people all they said they desired, and now those same people offered nothing in return. Instead they but looked into their own selfishness and gave thought to naught but their personal desires.

  Strengthened by his own resolve, Rory began to set his plans into motion. Before the waning of the moon, he vowed he would see his beloved Serine once again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A light mist enveloped the shore as the little skiff touched English land. The children clambered over the side, anxious to be free of the confines of the vessel.

  Rory packed up a bundle of food and secured the boat, hiding it lest his plans went awry and he had need to escape. When he was ready, he called the children together and they began their journey across the countryside toward Sheffield.

  How different this was from the first time he had made the journey. Instead of desperate men intent on stealing what they must have to survive, he was now accompanied by the squeals and laughter of children who delighted in pointing out places they remembered as they went on their way.

  This was not a forced march. Indeed, in consideration o
f the children’s ages, the little group moved slowly, the children running in circles most of the time. When evening fell they were still a good distance from their goal, and Rory decided to stop for the night.

  “We will leave early in the morning,” he promised them. “It is far better to arrive in Sheffield with the dawn than to come in the middle of the night when everyone is sleeping.”

  In truth, it might have been better for Rory to arrive at night. He could slip into Sheffield, deliver the children and see Serine, and none would be the wiser. But that was not his plan. To achieve his goal he must have the support of at least some of the people of Sheffield, and he could not gain support by stealth or force.

  Rory and the children talked and laughed together, then, huddling close, the children slept while Rory kept watch. His thoughts slipped over the sea to his home, and he wondered how his brother fared when faced with the wrath of the villagers who awoke to find some of their children gone.

  Would Guthrie guess that it was Rory who had taken them? Or would he believe the ploy that Rory had devised while the children were still with their adopted families?

  Life would undoubtedly be much easier for everyone involved if it was believed that some outsider had come and stolen them away. His eyes grew heavy and he was lulled by the rhythmic breathing of the young ones, until at last he joined them in sleep.

  The first rays of light crept through the trees when Rory again opened his eyes. The children slept deeply and he nudged them until they awoke. It was important that they stay together, for if he could not prove that he had returned them freely, his life would be forfeit indeed.

  “This is the last of the bread and cheese,” he told them as he divided it between them, “but soon you will again eat good English food, prepared by your own mothers.”

  The children ate what they were given, washing the fare down with water from a nearby stream. They did not bother to tell him that bread and cheese was often a treat in Sheffield and gruel the most usual fare of the day. Their footsteps lagged as they remembered the meat and eggs that accompanied the meals they had come to expect in Corvus Croft. But anticipation is a great energizer and excitement erased all else by the time the sun had climbed into the morning sky.

  They had no more than stepped onto Sheffield land when one of the children gave a screech and raced toward a plump woman carrying a large basket. Vegetables went flying as she recognized the child and embraced him amid the falling produce.

  Her cries of joy attracted the other serfs, and by the time they reached the village a procession had formed.

  At first Rory was surprised that the people accepted him without question. Then it came to him that they had never seen him, with the exception of the few who had helped carry him to Sheffield when he was sore wounded.

  The rough, unruly Celt was gone, and in his place was a man who could walk the English countryside without question. He allowed a swagger to his gait as they approached the manor house that was Serine’s home.

  If she loved him, she would not give his identity away, and if she did not, it would matter little what happened to him.

  The doors of the keep opened and Serine stepped into the light. She had blossomed in the expectation of motherhood and looked like a full-blown rose, lovely and fragrant and filled with life.

  “What is it?” she asked. The people all cried out at once in answer to her question. “What has happened?”

  “The Celts...” The alewife shouted above the rest. “‘Tis the Celts!”

  Serine’s eyes opened wide. She looked to Ethyl and Drojan for verification but received only a reflection of her own confusion. Surely Rory would not again raid Sheffield. Had they not suffered enough at his hand?

  “What about the Celts?” She managed to hold her voice steady and her head high, though her heart sank within her breast and her child kicked mightily in protest.

  “The Celts have returned our childer,” came the reply as a woman rushed forward and thrust a five-year-old child in Serine’s face.

  “And mine, also,” Hildegard chortled, hugging her little girl.

  Serine passed among her people. It did not take her long to realize that there were but two or three children from the dozen or so that had been taken. She also recognized them as having wished to return to England the day of her ill-timed attempt to escape.

  “But who...? Who is responsible for this miracle and how has it come to pass?”

  “A great lord, come from afar,” the alewife declared. “A true champion of our people.” She gestured toward the crowd. The people stepped aside, and Serine found herself looking into the blue-black eyes of Rory McLir.

  But this was a Rory that only Serine could recognize. No more the rough warrior, for the man had done away with his facial hair and stood before her clean shaven and dressed as a proper English gentleman.

  Her spirit raced toward him, but her body would not move. Her breath caught in her throat and her words with it. She dared not speak. Dared not say his name aloud in the fear that someone would discover his identity and take him from her.

  She moved toward him regally, as behooved the Lady of Sheffield, and held out her hand. “We thank you for what you have done for our village. You are welcome in Sheffield. Please come into my home.”

  He took her hand and placed it on his as he allowed her to usher him into the hall.

  Servants scurried to see to the comfort of the man who had returned their children. There was no time alone, nor moment of conversation free from the prying eyes and ears of the servants. Only with their eyes could Serine and Rory transmit the turmoil in their hearts.

  When finally the servants retired, Serine dared speak.

  “How came you here, and why?” She believed he had come because he loved her, but she needed to hear him say the words.

  He took her hand in both of his. “I came because I could not live without you, and I knew you could not come to me.”

  Her smile was his reward, but the joy her words brought was even greater. “My need to be with you has been so overpowering that I thought to risk everything and return to Corvus Croft regardless of the danger.”

  “There is no danger, dear heart,” he assured her. “The sickness that plagued the people was confined to the women, and turned out to be the same ailment that swells your belly this moment.”

  “You mean...” Her eyes widened in astonishment.

  “‘Twas Damask who came forth and told the angry crowd that it was not poison, but pregnancy that sent the women to their beds.”

  “But they made it sound as though it was wide-spread. Half the village was afflicted by some unknown malady,” Serine told him, still hardly able to believe her ears.

  “And so it was,” he assured her. “Over half the wives will bear children.”

  Her laughter rang out through the hall. “I had hoped that one or two of the women would conceive, but never in my wildest dreams did I believe it would be so widespread.”

  “Damask realized the extent of what had happened.”

  “Dear Damask, how does she fare?”

  “Only Guthrie is happier and more proud. Thanks to you, our land is a place of gladness. I was the one person there who was not bursting with joy.”

  “Did you come alone, with but the children to accompany you?” She frowned. “How is it that none of the men offered to join you?”

  “No one wanted to miss the birthing of the babes. They were not willing to take the chance that we would return in time to see their children born. They cared little that I might never see my own child, nor the woman I love, again. When I realized the extent of their selfishness I decided I owed them nothing and had the right to extract payment for my services.”

  She came to his arms, unable to restrain herself any longer. “Oh, my Rory.” She sighed. “I have missed you.”

  “And I, you.” He allowed his lips to find hers, touching them but gently while the passion sprang up between them as though they had never been
apart.

  She traced her fingers across his lips. “I would not have known you had I not seen you before without your mustache and beard. Why, even your own brother would hardly recognize you now.”

  “Do I not make a fine-looking English lord?” he asked.

  “You are as fine-looking a man as ever I’ve seen, and I cannot tell you how wonderful it is just to look at you again.” She augmented her statement by kissing the slight cleft in his chin. “I never thought to see you do away with your beloved beard simply to return a few stolen children.”

  “I come as would any proper English knight, ready to ask for the heart and hand of the woman he loves,” he told her self-righteously. “Do I not look the part?” He turned his head this way and that, waiting for her approval.

  “You are far more handsome than any man has a right to be, and it may behoove me to make you grow your beard again just to keep the ladies from throwing themselves at your head.”

  “No woman can tempt me, Serine, save yourself. I would have no other...and no other woman will ever have me.”

  “And do I truly have you, my Rory?” She could not tear her gaze from the masculine beauty of his face.

  “Need you ask?” he returned. “For your love I have betrayed my own people and turned myself into a renegade. Indeed, you, Serine, could return and be warmly welcomed, but I have made myself an outcast by coming to you.”

  “Do not despair, my love. They will forgive and forget with time. And you and I will find happiness together while we are waiting for them to do so.”

  She did not tell him that, but a few short days before, she had grieved in that Hendrick might be taken from her. Now she could hardly contain her happiness, and even the thought of Hendrick’s prospective absence was tempered by the knowledge of Rory’s presence. All would be perfect if she could keep both of them with her. But she would take the bitter with the sweet, and not begrudge Hendrick the right to learn to live the life that was his right and privilege by law, though she would miss him sorely.