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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Besieged
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The duke of Glenkirk found himself a bit piqued by the Irishman’s easy manner with his wife. Then he consoled himself with the knowledge that other than Adali and Rohana, Maguire was only acquainted with Jasmine. His was a difficult position. He was not really a servant, having been born to the nobility. Yet he no longer possessed his lands, but rather managed them for an English landlord, who just happened to be the duchess of Glenkirk. I must get to know the man better, James Leslie thought to himself. He seems a good fellow after all, and has been honest with my wife’s lands and retainers.
Jasmine scarcely recognized Mistress Tully, who was now plump and rosy-cheeked. The innkeeper greeted her warmly, curtsying and thanking her again for Rowan Lindley’s kindness those many years back.
“As you can see, m’lady, his good heart was our salvation. I don’t know how I would have managed without it,” she said in her soft lilt.
They sat down in a small private room to a meal of roasted lamb, onions, carrots, and potatoes. There was also a fat duck stuffed with bread and apples; a broiled salmon with dill; fresh bread, butter, and cheese. There were wine and ale both.
“I’m sorry we can’t remain the night,” James Leslie remarked as he loosed his doublet and pushed his pewter plate back.
“If we did we shouldn’t be able to reach Maguire’s Ford by late tomorrow, my lord,” Rory replied.
“Where will we stop tonight, Maguire?” the duke asked.
“The only place we can, Sir John Appleton’s manor,” came the reply.
“Is he still alive?” Jasmine wondered aloud. “As I remember he and his wife were terrible snobs, and extremely unpleasant toward the Irish. He had done something minor in old Queen Bess’s court.”
“He’s alive all right,” Rory Maguire said darkly, “and he’s but grown meaner with the years. His lady died, but his daughter and son-in-law live with him. They’re no better than the old man.”
“It sounds a right treat,” James Leslie muttered.
“Oh, they’ll fall all over you and her ladyship, my lord. ’Tis the rest of us that will be given short shrift,” Maguire chuckled.
“There’s no place else?” James Leslie queried.
Rory Maguire shook his red head, making a mournful face as he did so.
Sir John Appleton was now a fat old man with a gouty foot. His daughter, Sarah, and her husband, Richard, were spare and sour. They were openly flattered to be entertaining the duke and duchess of Glenkirk and their heiress daughter. They sat Fortune next to their son, John, and hoped for a miracle. They did not get it, for John, normally a loud bully, was struck dumb by Lady Fortune Lindley’s beauty and air of self-assurance. She was like no other girl he had ever met, and he was frankly intimidated by her. For her part Fortune ignored him. Young John Appleton had a spotty face and damp palms. The fact he was so silent and lacking in interesting conversation did not stand him in good stead with Fortune. She thought him rather foolish.
“The reputation of yer horses is widespread,” old Sir John remarked. “I’m amazed considering ye’ve got Irish Catholics working on yer estates. They’ve robbed ye blind, no doubt.”
“I have both Catholics and Protestants working on my estates,” Jasmine said sweetly. “Both render me good service, and I find no difference in them, Sir John. They are all decent people.”
“Idol-worshipping papists,” the old man said venemously.
“Catholics don’t worship idols,” Fortune suddenly snapped, highly irritated. “They worship God. What twaddle!”
“Madame! Reprimand your daughter. She is much too forward, and wrongheaded,” Sir John snapped.
“Fortune, please apologize to Sir John. He cannot help his ignorance,” the duchess of Glenkirk said to her daughter.
“Yes, Mama,” Fortune remarked meekly. “I apologize to you for your ignorance, Sir John.” She smiled sweetly. Then rising, Fortune curtsied prettily. “I must retire now,” she explained, and left the room.
Sir John and his family were not certain at all that Fortune had really apologized, but they dared not argue further with the duchess of Glenkirk. The girl was not at all suitable for their young John, they silently decided. She was much too pretty, and far too bold. Undoubtedly she would come to a bad end. They were not unhappy in the least when their guests announced they would seek their beds.
Rory Maguire, Adali, and Rohana had been grudgingly served a meal in the kitchen of the great house. The servants were suspicious of the Irishman, and his two foreign-looking companions. After they had eaten they were told that Rohana could go with her mistress, but the two men would have to sleep in the stables.
“Master don’t allow the likes of ye in the house,” the cook said grimly. “We’d all be murdered in our beds!”
“I doubt there is any man who would even get close to
that
woman’s bed,” Adali said humorously as he and Rory found a spot for themselves in the stable loft. He spread his cloak upon the sweet-smelling hay and sat down. “I’ve slept in worse places,” he decided.
“I, also,” Rory agreed, laying his own garment upon the hay. He stretched out, and then said, “She looks happy.”
“She is,” Adali said.
“Good.”
“You have never married, Master Maguire?” Adali asked.
“Nay,” came the answer. “There was no point to it. The lands were no longer mine. I had naught to offer a woman. Children would have but complicated my life for they would be Catholics by faith, Irish by blood, and alien in their own land as long as the English occupy it. I cannot be certain of the future myself. I should not want the responsibility of a wife and children to worry over.”
“You have no
need
of a woman?” Adali probed.
“After her?”
was the reply.
“It was but one hour of one night almost twenty-one years ago, Master Maguire. Are you telling me there has been no other since?”
“Aye. Oh, once in a rare while I have a bout of lust which is satisfied by a village widow of my acquaintance. She is known for being kind to men like me, but as she is discreet, there is none who would call her a whore,” Rory said.
“Can you be as discreet as your widow, Master Maguire?” Adali asked him in all seriousness.
“Of course!” Rory exclaimed. “Have I not always been? I know she knows nothing of what happened. I would not distress her.”
“Good. She thinks of you as her friend, Master Maguire,” Adali told him. “I believe you would not want to lose that friendship. She loves James Leslie, and he loves her. They have built a good life together in Scotland with their children.”
“You need not fear, Adali,” Rory Maguire said, and there was a dark hint of sadness in his voice. “She never saw me as anything other than a friend. It is the best I can hope for. I will not lose even that small part of her attention on a foolish hope and dream that will never, ever be. Nay, Adali. I would give my life for my lady Jasmine, but she shall never know the part I played in saving her own life all those years ago. It would shame us both.”
“Nay, there was no shame, Master Maguire,” Adali reassured him. “You, the priest, and I did what had to be done. No more than that. There is no disgrace in it, nor should you feel guilt. Good night now. I will see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Adali,” Rory Maguire said quietly, rolling himself onto his side, wrapping his cloak about him. Then he thought that the next few months would be the hardest of his life.
Chapter
2
T
hey departed the Appleton estate even before the sun was up. Their hosts were still abed, but they were anxious to remain not a moment longer than was necessary.
“Please tell your master,” the duke of Glenkirk instructed the butler, who himself was but barely awake, “that we thank him for his hospitality, but our journey is a long, tedious one. If we are to reach its end by sunset today, we must depart earlier than would be expected.”
The butler bowed low, as obsequious as his employer. “Very good, my lord. Sir John will be sorry he had not the opportunity to bid you a proper farewell himself,” he replied smoothly.
“He is excused,” James Leslie said grandly with a wave of his gloved hand. Turning, he shepherded his wife and stepdaughter from the entrance hall out into the damp and foggy morning.
The coach carrying Adali, Rohana, and their small bit of luggage had already departed. Rory Maguire stood waiting, holding the horses. They mounted quickly and cantered down the gravel drive away from Appleton Hall.
“Good riddance!” James Leslie said.
“Aye, and amen to that, my lord,” Maguire responded.
The morning brightened, and the fog slowly lifted, but there was no sun, and it rained once again. Strangely the gray only made the countryside greener by comparison. The green hills over which they traveled rambled gently. The rolling landscape was broken only rarely by a gray stone tower, usually in a state of ruin, or a small village. There were fewer villages, Jasmine noted, than when she had first come to Ireland. Some were deserted and falling into decay; others were gone entirely, their former existence attested to only by a broken and pulled-down Celtic cross in a weed-strewn square. Ulster, never heavily populated to begin with, was now even less populated it appeared.
“What has happened here?” Jasmine asked Rory Maguire.
“Not all landlords are like you, my lady,” he replied. “You know the penalties placed upon those who follow the Catholic faith. Many have been driven off their lands because they will not convert to Protestantism. It is that simple.”
“But these landlords are not even in Ireland,” Jasmine said. “What difference does it make to them as long as the land is worked properly and is prosperous for them?”
“They appoint agents who follow the letter of the law,” he explained. “Most are English as are the settlers. We have Scots landlords too, but for now the Scots remain in Scotland, except for those who are able to give up their clan ties to seek lands of their own.”
“What happens to the people?” she queried him.
“They go to relations in parts of Ireland where the laws are not so assiduously followed. They flee into the more remote regions, living a more primitive existence. They die. A few emigrate to France and Spain. There are no other choices.”
“It is the way of the world,” Fortune said quietly, surprising them. “I have learned this in my studies, and Mother has often said that it is so. One tribe conquers another, and another, and so forth. Nothing remains the same forever. Like my mother, however, I see no necessity for what is happening in Ireland. Bigotry is wrong, and it is cruel.”
“There’s just as much of it on one side as the other,” Rory told the girl. “At Maguire’s Ford we are fortunate to have two men of religion who are liberal and open-minded, but such a thing is unique. For as many Protestant ministers who tell their flocks that Catholicism is a wicked, idol-worshipping faith, there are an equal number of Catholic priests howling that the Protestants are dirty heretics who ought to be burned, and if not here on earth, then surely in hell, for they are the devil’s own spawn. Such thoughts do not lead to understanding, or tolerance, my lady. There are, I fear, and am sorry to say, far more John Appletons upon this earth, than people like yer mam.”
“You like my mother, don’t you?” Fortune observed, moving her gelding next to his.
His heart contracted in his chest, but Rory Maguire flashed her a casual grin. “Aye, my lady, I do. I always have. It must be the Irish in her for she’s got a big heart, does the lady Jasmine.”
“My mother says if I remain in Ireland I should keep you on because you can be trusted, and few men can,” Fortune said.
“Perhaps yer husband will have other ideas, lady,” he replied.
Fortune looked at him as if he had lost his mind. It was a look he recognized, but it was certainly not her mother’s look. “My husband will have no say in the management of Maguire’s Ford,” Fortune said.
“If
I marry William Devers, he will not be in possession of my lands. He has his own. The women in my family do not give over their wealth to the men they wed. It is unthinkable!”
He laughed aloud. “Yer mam has raised you well, my lady Fortune,” Rory Maguire said, vastly amused, but also relieved when she continued.
“If
I wed William Devers, you will retain your place, Rory Maguire,” Fortune said. “Besides, I will need you to teach me all about the business of the horses. I know little about horses but that I like them very much and enjoy riding them.”
“You know how to talk to the horses,” he said. “I saw how you conversed with Thunder before you got on his back. Who taught you to do that, my lady Fortune?”
Fortune looked puzzled a moment, and then she said, “No one, Rory Maguire. I have always done it before mounting a strange beast. It only seemed polite. My sister and brothers make fun of me for it, but I’ve never been thrown, or had any difficulty since my very first pony.” Fortune explained to him.
“Ahh, now that’s the Irish in you,” he said with a smile.
“I like you, Rory Maguire,” Fortune told him.
“I like you, Lady Fortune Mary Lindley,” he answered her.
“How do you know my full name?” Fortune was surprised.
“Do you not know, my lady, that I am your godfather?” he replied.
“You are?
Mama,” Fortune called to her mother who was riding just behind her. “Is that true? Is Rory Maguire my godfather?”
“Aye,” Jasmine said. “He is.”
“Then,” said Fortune emphatically, “I shall call you Uncle Rory, and you will call me Fortune when we are in private,
en famille.”
He turned his head to catch Jasmine’s eye, and she nodded just barely. “Very well, Fortune,” he agreed, his heart warmed by her generosity and her charm. This was no proud m’lady. The people of Maguire’s Ford would take to her without question, and they would be able to continue in their peaceable ways provided that William Devers did not interfere with his bride’s authority. Rory wondered how the young man would take to the notion that Fortune would control her own lands and her own wealth. If Rory knew Jasmine, the bridegroom would sign a legal document before he took a step down the aisle to claim the flame-haired beauty.
The rain gradually slipped away, and by the time they had stopped to rest the horses and eat a bit of bread and cheese, the sun was shining. From the look of the sky it would be sunny the rest of the afternoon, Rory decided. Looking about him he saw several familiar landmarks, and realized that because of their early start they would reach Maguire’s Ford by midafternoon. Surreptitiously he watched the byplay between Jasmine and James Leslie. They were so openly and plainly in love with one another that he felt actual physical pain in his heart. Whatever he had said to Adali last night, whatever he said to Father Cullen Butler, there had always been one tiny secret place within him that yet hoped she would love him. Now he could see quite plainly that it would never be. The knowledge was as if something had died within him at that same moment. He sighed deeply and audibly.
Hearing the sound Fortune, who was sitting next to Rory Maguire in the grass, turned. “What is the matter, Uncle Rory?” she said. “That is the saddest sound I have ever heard.” She laid her head upon his shoulder and took his hand in hers. “Do not be sad.”
Her compassion quite took him by surprise. He felt his eyes filling with tears which he quickly blinked back. “Ahh, lassie, we Irish are oft-times subject to black moods that come suddenly upon us.” He gave the elegant little hand holding his a small squeeze. “It’s all right, and now if you are ready we should be going.” He arose and drew her up. “You were such a wee babe, Fortune Mary Lindley, and now what a fine lady you have grown up to be.”
“I wondered where those dark humors came from, Uncle Rory. I get them too. That, also, must be the Irish in me,” Fortune said. “For a girl whose father was English, and whose mother is a mixture of English and Mughal, I seem to have a lot of my Irish great-grandmother in me,” the girl chuckled.
They rode on at a more leisurely pace now, the coach lumbering along behind them. The afternoon was bright, the sun warm upon their backs. Finally they topped a hill. Below was a long stretch of blue water which Rory told Fortune was upper Lough Erne, even as Jasmine explained to her husband. The upper and lower loughs divided the area which was known as Fermanagh, running the length of it before it became the river Erne, which emptied into Donegal Bay at Ballyshannon.
Rory pointed, saying as he did, “There is Maguire’s Ford below us, and there on the lough, Erne Rock Castle, where I hope you will want to make your home, Fortune.”
“Look in the meadows below, poppet,” Jasmine said to her daughter. “See our horses, and look! Sheep. I see the breeding stock we sent from Glenkirk took, Rory.”
“Aye, my lady, they did,” he replied.
They rode down the hill and into the village. Ahead of them a pack of little boys raced, calling to the villagers in both Irish and in English, “They’re coming! They’re coming!” People began to appear from out of the cottages and the fields, lining the road to see the absentee landlord of Maguire’s Ford, returned after twenty years.
Spotting a familiar face, Jasmine drew her horse to a stop. “Bride Duffy!” She slid from her mount’s back and hugged her old friend.
“Cai mille failte!
A thousand welcomes,” Bride Duffy said, her honest face wreathed in a broad smile. “Welcome back to Maguire’s Ford, my lady Jasmine!”
The two women embraced again, and then Jasmine drew Fortune forward. “Here is your goddaughter, Bride Duffy. Make your curtsy, Fortune.”
Fortune curtsied before the red-cheeked country woman. “How d’ye do, Mistress Duffy?” Fortune said, and met the woman’s gaze with her own. “I am pleased to meet you at long last.”
“Bless yer heart, m’lady,” Bride replied, “and pleased I am to remake yer acquaintance for you were just a wee babe in nappies when I saw ye last.” She hesitated just a brief moment, then hugged the young girl. “Now yer back to where you first saw the light of this harsh world, and come to marry, or so I am told.”
“Only if I like him,”
Fortune said quickly.
Bride Duffy chuckled. “Just like her mam, she is.”
“Both my daughters have minds of their own,” Jasmine said. “Come, Bride, and meet my husband, James Leslie.” She drew her friend over to where the duke now stood, and introduced them.
Finally Rory was able to draw Fortune and the Leslies away so they might see the castle. The coach carrying Adali and Rohana had already gone ahead. Erne Rock Castle was set upon a small headland and surrounded by water on three sides. It was almost three hundred years old. To gain entrance one crossed a drawbridge that lay over a moat, which was actually a part of the lough that had been dug out on the land side, and lined with large stones to keep it from collapsing. With its drawbridge raised, Erne Rock was an invincible fortress, small though it was.
They walked their horses across the drawbridge, and upon entering the courtyard they were greeted by several stable lads who took their mounts. Fortune looked about her in order to get her bearings. There were the stables, and there a gatehouse. The courtyard was paved in large flat stones, and not particularly large. She followed her mother up a small flight of steps. There was a red rosebush at the foot of the stairs, growing up from an open flower bed. Fortune cupped one of the roses in her hand and sniffed appreciatively. Then she hurried after Jasmine.
Inside, Erne Rock Castle was a warm and friendly place. There were stone floors on the main level and beautifully polished wooden floors on the upper level. The Great Hall had two fireplaces alight with bright fires this May afternoon. It was not a large room at all, being no bigger than the family’s private hall at Glenkirk, Fortune noted. There was a tapestry depicting St. Patrick driving the snakes from Ireland on one wall. The furniture was of glowing golden oak. There was a paneled and well-stocked library on the main floor as well as a room that Rory used to conduct estate business. The kitchens were located behind and below the Great Hall. On the second floor of the castle there were several bedrooms, each with its own fireplace.
Jasmine opened the door to the large bedchamber, and stepped back so her daughter might look inside. “Here is where you were born,” she said softly. “Madame Skye’s sister, the doctor nun, Eibhlin, delivered you into this world. You were the hardest of my babies, and were turned about the wrong way. I wagered Mam a gold piece that you were a boy.”
“Were you disappointed?” asked Fortune, who had never heard this story before.

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