Irish Lady (17 page)

And so began our game, the dance of two strong wills pitted against one another. Niall Garv was a master swordsman. He knew when to feint and pull back, when to parry, strike, and drive straight to the heart. Everything he knew of women he applied to my seduction.

In those first weeks after his arrival I wondered why he waited so long to finish it. A man with a thousand foot soldiers at his command had no need for a woman's approval. Later, when I had no resistance left, after I'd bartered my body for the lives of my children, I realized what it was that held him back. His tremendous pride wanted me to want him as I did Rory. The moment he realized it would never be, he ended the game.

At first he was not so difficult a companion, so solicitous of my health, so patient with my children. If I had come upon him without first knowing the set of his mind, I would have trusted him completely. But I did know him. Even so, I could not help being flattered that it was me he wanted, a woman past the first blush of youth, a woman of twenty-four years who had borne nine children to another man.

I was ripe for seduction. When a man leaves his wife as often and as long as Rory left me, he runs the risk of losing her affection to another who is more attentive. I refused to dwell on it, but occasionally a dark thought crept into my mind. Was Rory as lonely as I? Did he fight the wanting that months without release inevitably brought? Or did he seek his pleasure elsewhere, justifying his sins by confessing to his priest that he was only a man and his wife was far away? I never asked him such a question for fear of hearing the truth. It was enough that here at Dun Na Ghal he was faithful to me. Perhaps that was all a man could be.

Day after day Niall kept at his subtle flirtation. I began to listen for the sound of his footsteps in the hall. His frequent shouts of laughter were not at all unpleasant to my ears and the look in his night-dark eyes as he watched me go about my daily business left me breathless. I was constantly wary, every nerve on edge. All through the long spring nights Niall courted me, playing the gentleman, never once pressing his advantage. If I missed Rory and wondered why he did not come to rescue his wife and children from the clutches of his enemy, no word of it passed my lips.

It was midsummer when the message came. After looking in on the children I retired to my chambers for the night. Earlier, Niall and I had dined alone and I knew by the look in his eyes and the way he pressed his lips into the palm of my hand that he would wait no longer. To my shame, a part of me hoped that he would not. But another part, the woman who was Agnes MacDonnell's daughter, the woman who had single-handedly ruled Dun Na Ghal for years, the woman who was mother to five of Rory O'Donnell's children knew better. The risks of adultery were many and the results devastating. The wisest course of action would be to stay as far away from my charming cousin as the walls of Dun Na Ghal Castle would allow. This I intended to do.

I sat down on a low stool and motioned for my maid to loosen my braids. The sensual pull of the brush through my hair relaxed me and assuaged the ache in my temples.

A knock at the door startled me. I tensed, believing it was Niall. But when it sounded again, I knew better. Niall would knock boldly if he knocked at all. More likely he would walk in without warning and arrogantly dismiss my attendant.

She opened the door, and a man with the swarthy coloring of a Romany traveler stepped inside my chamber. Holding his finger against his lips, he handed me a small piece of paper. Rory's bold script was unmistakable. My heart pounded as I held it under the light to better see the words. I read quickly, and the blood left my head. Gripping the bedpost, I swayed and would have fallen had the stranger not reached out to bolster me with an arm strong as an oak.

“Are you ill, m'lady?” the serving woman asked timidly.

I shook my head. “No, Fiona, just tired. Please leave us.”

Without a word she left the room. I stared once again at Rory's words and wet my lips. “How can I possibly manage such a deception?” I asked my husband's messenger. “We are watched every moment.”

“Even Niall Garv must sleep,” he replied. “The O'Donnell waits with five thousand men at the mouth of the river. Tomorrow, before first light, you must bring the lads to the south entrance.”

“What of my daughters and me?”

“Be ready. Your husband will take the castle in less than a fortnight. Wait for his message, then go to the children and stay with them. Fear not. 'Tis the heir to Tirconnaill that Niall Garv would hold hostage. He'll not harm you or the lassies.”

I thought of the cold sculpted beauty of Niall's mouth and wondered if Rory knew him at all. There was only one way to soften the edges of Niall's finely honed sense of danger, and it came with a terrible price. Did Rory have any idea what he asked of me? And if he did, would he allow me to finish it?

That night I slept little, wondering whom I could trust to lead my sons out of the silent castle to the south entrance. I would have taken them myself but I would be otherwise occupied.

My worry turned out to be groundless. The next morning the O'Neill standard appeared at the gates and my mother was allowed inside. We clung together, Mother and I, and she whispered words of comfort into my ear. After greeting Niall Garv, she thanked him for the care he had taken of her grandchildren. He smiled pleasantly and left us alone for the rest of the day. We played gently with the children, and I told her of Rory's plan.

Agnes MacDonnell was no fool. She frowned and asked the question I feared most. “I shall be glad to help you, Nuala, but why not take the children yourself?”

My cheeks burned. Unable to meet her clear-eyed gaze, I turned away. “Niall must be kept indisposed until after the attack.”

“How?”

I stared straight ahead and did not answer. She sighed and took my hand in hers. “Nuala, my love. Women have their own weapons. There is no shame in saving your children.”

“Rory will never forgive me,” I said bitterly.

“Don't tell him.”

The simplicity of her logic shocked me. But the more I thought, the more I saw the wisdom in her words.

We stayed with the children until they were weary of sun and play. I kissed Brian and Sean tenderly before I sent them to the nursery for food and rest.

Dinner was late, and I took more time than usual with my appearance. My gown was the green of emeralds and cut daringly low so that my breasts, full now after nursing the children, nearly spilled from my bodice. My maid darkened my eyebrows and lips and brushed rice powder across my face, throat and bosom. My eyes glittered, and in the glass I could see that my skin was very white against the green satin material. I wore no cap, and my hair hung unbound like a curtain of fire, straight and fine, past my knees. Turning away from the glass, I walked down the stairs to the small banquet hall where Niall waited with my mother.

After one shocked look at my exposed breasts, Mother pretended that all was as usual and greeted Niall with the well-bred dignity she showed to all who graced her table. If circumstances had been different I would have been amused at Niall's reaction to my transformation.

Formality dictated that he reply to my mother's greeting, but after a single startled glance in my direction, his eyes glazed over and for the remainder of the meal he was barely coherent. He ate too little and drank too much, responding to our questions with brief, clipped answers.

I also drank more than usual. Thoughts of the night to come, the fantasies of a lonely woman too long away from her husband, had once sent my blood racing. Now, in the cold realm of reality, they made me ill. I felt cold and dull, as if I stood outside my body and viewed the scene with the detachment of a spectator. I didn't notice when my mother left. Niall and I sat across from one another, our hands curled tightly around the stems of our crystal goblets.

I still remember the way his eyes glittered as they rested on my exposed flesh and the way the tiny hairs grew on the back of his lean brown hands. His black hair shone like the gleam of a bird's wing under the candlelight, and his bones were set and very pronounced as he stared at me from across the table. I watched his throat move as he gulped the last of his wine and imagined his tongue against my skin.

I had been a child when I gave myself to Rory, and our love was desperate and all-consuming. There was no love whatsoever in my feelings for Niall Garv O'Donnell. No matter that my excuse for adultery was a worthy one. What we were about to do was a terrible sin. Knowing that did not dissuade me. I could no more have changed the course of that night than I could have stopped the flow of invaders into Ireland. I would pay for my deed for the rest of my life, but tonight my body would belong to a man who was not my husband.

Without a word, Niall pushed himself away from the table and advanced upon me. He held out his hand and I gave him mine. Slowly, inexorably, he pulled me into his arms and took my mouth in a fierce kiss. I clung to his shoulders and allowed him to mark my lips, my throat, and my breasts with the heat of his tongue.

I have no memory of how we ended up in my chamber, but somewhere on the stairs I felt his hands on my breasts and by the time we reached my bed he'd coaxed my traitorous body into an unwilling response. It had been too long since I'd felt my husband's arms around me. I closed my eyes and thought of Rory. It was Rory whose lips touched mine, Rory whose hands evoked such pleasure, Rory who moved over me at just the right time and spoke the fevered whispers against my throat.

Niall claimed me after his searching tongue was familiar with every inch of my flesh. Finally, when I was too exhausted to speak, he slept briefly, my body joined with his. Sleep eluded me completely and it seemed like only moments before he woke, ready for me again.

It was past dawn when the door burst open. Guards filled the room, telling of invaders in the night and soldiers at the gates. Rory's army had attacked. I hid my face in the sheets while Niall threw on his clothes and ran outside to the battlements.

I pulled a gown over my head and rushed to the nursery, praying that all had gone according to plan. The wet nurse sat wide-eyed in a chair feeding the twins.

“The boys?” I asked through swollen lips.

“The Lady Agnes took them hours ago, before first light They haven't returned.”

Sighing with relief, I returned to my bedchamber, stripped off my gown, and fell into bed, praying for the sleep that had eluded me all night.

I woke to silence and absolute darkness. Fearing the worst, I reached for the candle, but a firm hand closed over my wrist.

“You knew, didn't you?” Niall's voice came from a place close to my head.

After what we had shared I could not lie. “Yes.”

He pulled me against his bare chest and held my head against him. He tasted of gunpowder and ash.

“Holy God, Nuala. Do you know what you have done?”

“I could not go against him, Niall. He is my husband.”

“My archers murdered your mother and your sons. Will you blame me for that as well?”

I struggled for air but still he held me. His words were bitter. “Why did you risk it, Nuala? After last night, do you really believe I would have harmed your children?”

Somewhere his harsh voice floated over my head and powerful arms held me in a grip of steel, but all I felt was pain and rage, a rage so intense and sweeping that nothing of me was left inside my brain, not even questions. I knew that Rory would never consciously harm his children, but he had exposed them to risk and, in so doing, their lives were forfeited.

Or perhaps it had nothing to do with Rory. Perhaps it was all my fault. Perhaps my wee lads were taken from me because I had broken the sacrament of marriage. Better to have sent them to England or to Niall. At least they would be alive. My hurt was too deep for tears. I could neither speak nor respond. 'Twas all for naught. If Rory had prevailed, Niall would not be here in my bed.

His mouth touched my ear. “Stay with me, Nuala,” he whispered. “Bear my sons. The church is finished in Ireland. Submit to Elizabeth, divorce Rory, and marry me.”

I could not believe what I heard. “I betrayed you, Niall. I sent my children to their father. I knew Rory would attack this morning.”

“What of last night? Was your desire false? Did your body lie?”

I pulled away and sat up, knowing that his eyes must have adjusted to the darkness as mine had. I no longer cared. There was nothing of me that his eyes had not already seen nor his mouth tasted. “I would have refused you if Rory's message had not come,” I told him, “I feel nothing for you.”

Even through the darkness I could see that his eyes were black with rage, and I was afraid. Niall Garv was an Irish chieftain and to anger him was beyond foolishness.

He reached out to pull me beneath him. His hands gripped my wrists and the weight of his body held me prisoner. “I care little for your feelings, Nuala. You will share my bed and I will replace the sons you lost. Then we shall see if your Rory still wants you.”

I was dry and lifeless when he entered me that night and for all the nights thereafter. I had only to think of my husband and the wee lads we had lost and my body refused to respond.

One morning, weeks later, in the early hours after Niall had left my bed, I smelled charred wood. Believing it to be the kitchen fires, I slept again. When I woke my chamber was filled with smoke. Throwing on my oldest gown, I ran down the hall and up the stairs to the nursery. The heat had blistered the whitewashed walls. Gushes of blackened smoke surrounded me, filling my lungs. I swayed and leaned against the wall.

Someone called my name. I tried to speak and coughed instead. Niall Garv, his face black with soot, came through the smoke and lifted me in his arms.

“The children,” I gasped. “Please, help me.”

He hesitated, searched my face, looked up the smoking stairs and lowered me to the ground. “I'll find them and meet you outside,” he said, pushing me back. “Go now. Quickly.”