Irish Lady (22 page)

Something was wrong. Instincts acquired from those long-ago years in the Falls kicked in. Meghann resumed their dialogue, her voice higher and breathier than before, her words nothing like the ones she had planned to share. Deliberately, she reached over and gave Annie's hand a warning squeeze. “Don't do anything. Leave it all to me. Would you like to walk to the market before I go?”

Annie stood, instantly alerted. “That's kind of you, Meggie. I'll find my jumper and we'll give it a go.”

Meghann relaxed, rested her chin on her hand, and casually inspected the back entrance. How much had they heard, and when would they make an appearance? She heard Annie's footsteps on the floor above.

Without warning, the screen door opened and a man wearing a balaclava stepped inside and leveled a firearm at her chest. Meghann froze. She heard her breath, loud and rasping in the silent room.

“Easy now,” a voice behind her spoke. “There's no need t' upset yourself. We won't hurt you.”

Meghann's ear was exceptional. She'd heard that voice before. “What are you doing here?” she managed, keeping her eyes on the man holding the gun.

“Do y' know who I am, Miss McCarthy?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Lies accomplish nothing.”

Upstairs, the toilet flushed. Meghann wet her lips. “What do you want?”

“Information.”

She laughed shakily and some of her fear dissipated. “That's what I want.”

“Suppose we share what we know?”

“That's a lovely idea, but it won't work.”

“Why not?”

Annie's footsteps sounded on the stairs. The masked man had changed position. His gun was pointed at a spot over Meghann's head, the exact spot where Annie would have a straight view of her kitchen.

Meghann turned around and looked into Andrew Maguire's pale eyes. “Because a man who sells out a friend can't be trusted.”

His skin reddened.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Annie's outraged voice filled the room. “What are y' doin' in my kitchen with a gun, Andrew Maguire? I won't have weapons in my house.” She looked at his dirt-stained clothing and wrinkled her nose. “Y' look like something washed up from the sewer. Take y'r man outside and clean him up.”

Maguire nodded politely. “How are y' feeling this morning, Mrs. Devlin?”

“I'll feel much better when you and your friend have seen the better part of a bar of soap.”

“We were just leaving,” Andrew assured her. “Please go back upstairs, Mrs. Devlin. I need to speak privately with Meghann.”

Annie opened her mouth to protest, but Meghann cut her off before she could speak. “It's all right, Annie. Do as he says. I'll be up in a minute.”

Maguire watched Annie leave the room before shifting to meet Meghann's gaze. “They'll settle on a lesser charge if y' pull out of Michael's defense and allow Miles French to become lead counsel.”

Shock, followed by a quick surge of triumph, momentarily robbed Meghann of speech. They were afraid of her. But why? There must be something else, some small piece of evidence she had missed.

Years in the courtroom helped her cultivate just the right expression, a combination of self-control and polite disinterest. “I don't think so,” she said softly.

“Let Michael be the judge of that.”

Meghann stiffened and her facade slipped. “Apparently you don't know Michael as well as you think you do.”

Maguire nodded to the masked man and backed away toward the door leading outside. “Discuss it with Michael. He'll see that it's best for all of us. I'll be in touch.”

Meghann waited a full five minutes until the neighborhood sounds normalized before calling for Annie to come down the stairs.

“Lord, Meggie.” Annie joined Meghann in the sitting room. “I thought the worst.”

Drawing her knees up to her chin, Meghann chewed her thumbnail and thought out loud. “They're offering Michael a lesser charge if I leave his defense to Miles French.”

“Would Michael have to plead guilty?” asked Annie.

“Aye.”

Annie sat down on a straight-backed chair and frowned. “How would Andrew come by that bit of information?”

Meghann froze. Of course. That was it, the missing piece. Andrew Maguire was IRA. He had no authority to make promises for the British government. Either he was lying or—Dear God!

Her hand flew to her lips. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Because the idea was preposterous. Another thought occurred to her, icing the blood in her veins. If she hadn't had the foresight to involve the press, what would her own life be worth after such an idea had been handed to her?

“What are you thinking, Meggie?”

Annie's face looked like death. Shaking off her ominous thoughts, Meghann smiled, stood and walked over to where her godmother sat. Kneeling at her feet, she took Annie's work-worn hand in her own. “I don't know whether Andrew Maguire has any authority. But it doesn't matter. In the eyes of the world's newspapers, Michael must be separated from all IRA association. It is the press who will try him publicly and decide his guilt or innocence. Believe me, Annie. If they decide Michael is innocent, the British government will fall into line.”

Nuala, Tirconnaill, 1598

“I wish to keep him with me.”

Rory's face hardened. “It isn't possible.”

“Please, Rory,” I begged, twisting the costly velvet of my gown between my hands. “He's but a babe, barely weaned. Wait until he's old enough to be fostered.”

Rory stood and walked to the fire. We were in his private chambers, where I had not been invited for over a year. I saw only his back and the rigid lines of his body. He meant to refuse me. I could feel it.

“I know what you want, Nuala,” he said, his voice gone low and cold. “You would keep the child at Dun Na Ghal and force me to recognize him as my own.” He turned and fixed upon me a look such as I had never seen from Rory. “Hear me now. It will not happen. Niall Garv's son will never have Dun Na Ghal.”

I wished to wound him as he had wounded me. Lifting my head, I met his gaze and flung the words at him. “No man with Irish blood will ever have Dun Na Ghal. Before Niall's son is grown the English will have conquered all that is left of Ireland.”

“If you are as sure as you say, then why—” He stopped and frowned.

I knew what he asked. Only a man would ask such a question. Defeated, I sat down on a low stool. “Because he is my son,” I said, “the only child I will ever have. I cannot live without him.”

His laugh held more bitterness than humor. “You are a woman of remarkable resources, my love. You will live. You always do.” He turned away again. “Prepare yourself. I have sent for Niall.”

I gasped. “How could you? It is I who should have told him.”

Rory words dripped with sarcasm. “When were you planning this confession?”

My cheeks burned, but I refused to look away.

He crossed the room and stood before me, lifting my chin to meet his accusing gaze. His mouth twisted. “Just as I thought. A man has a right to his son, Nuala.”

“More than likely Niall has a dozen bastard sons while I have only one.”

“Niall has no sons or daughters.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“He is my cousin. His seed was never spilled lightly.”

I could not prevent the blush stealing across my chest and cheeks. Rory saw it immediately, and his words spewed bitterness. “What was it like for you, Nuala? Did Niall please you? Did you think of me when you spread your legs for him?”

If he had asked in good faith, I would have answered him differently. But his words were laced with contempt.

“I've already told you,” I said coldly. “Once, I wanted him, and although my desire soon passed, I cannot change what was.”

If ever Rory would strike me, it would be now, at this moment. I watched him struggle with his emotions, watched the anger rise within him, war with his pride, and fade from his eyes. Once again he was in control, the chief of Dun Na Ghal.

“Niall will come for the child after he returns from London.” He forced me to look directly at him. “You may go with him if you wish. I would not keep you against your will.”

My reply froze on my tongue. I was close to collapsing. Wetting my lips, I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out. I tried again. “You are generous, my lord. I will think on it.”

He nodded and looked pointedly at the door. We had nothing left to say. He wanted me away from him, out of his sight. I could not leave fast enough.

***

From my place on the battlements I watched him come. Without mail and only a bonnet covering his head, he rode at the head of a small company of men, his face hidden behind a metal plate. We had spent only a brief time together, yet I knew him immediately. Few men rode as he did, his body at one with the animal beneath him, his hands loose on the reins.

I swallowed. The time was near. It seemed as if my entire life was spent bidding farewell to yet another one of my children.

My mount was saddled. I rode out, alone with the boy. Rory would not interfere. He had pledged his word on it.

Too soon, I reached the slope of the hill that marked the halfway point between Dun Na Ghal and the ridge where Niall waited, still on horseback. I saw him remove his bonnet. He handed it to the man behind him and rode toward me, alone. My mouth tasted like ash. I could scarcely breathe. My arms must have tightened because the baby whimpered in his sleep. I kissed his downy head and breathed in the delicious scent of him. “Holy Mother of God, please help me through this,” I prayed, closing my eyes against the inevitable.

“Hello, Nuala.”

Slowly, I lifted my eyelids and stared at the man who had been my lover. His coppery hawk's face was very brown, and his eyes were narrowed against the sun. Framing his face was the shining hair that once, in a moment of madness, I had yearned to touch. The words I had practiced refused to come. Speechless, I could only stare.

“Have you nothing to say to me, Nuala?”

Mutely, I shook my head. He urged his mount closer and gently removed the child from my arms. For a long moment he looked at the lad we had made together. Then he looked up and smiled. My breath caught. He was pleased, more than pleased. He was wildly happy. Without warning, he leaned over, with the babe still between us, drew me close and kissed me soundly.

I pulled away, mentally cursing the fairness of my skin for its tendency to color. “Don't do that,” I snapped.

He grinned. “It's lovely to hear your voice, Nuala. I was afraid you wouldn't speak to me.”

Niall always caught me at a disadvantage. He was too charming and much too handsome for a woman whose husband no longer shared her bed. I looked away.

His voice changed. “You will speak to me, won't you? I have forgiven you for not telling me of the child.”

“There is nothing to say. This day fills you with joy. 'Tis not the same for me.”

His words were pitiless. “You should thank the Virgin Mother and all the saints that I want my son. Not every man would under the circumstances.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. “I also want my son.”

The warmth left his face, deepening the hollows. “Spare me your blame. Rory does not want him at Dun Na Ghal. The tone of his missive was clear.”

Suddenly I was furious. “This is all your fault. If you hadn't come, my children would be alive. You raped me and left me with child and now you would take him from me.”

His voice was cold as stone. “Your memory is clouded. It was not rape. I asked you to come with me. I wanted you. I've always wanted you. I waited and waited until my head throbbed and I thought of nothing but the ache in my groin. Still I waited, until the night you appeared before me, half-naked, with loose hair and painted lips. You wanted me as well. You would have wanted me still if Rory hadn't ordered the burning of Dun Na Ghal.”

“That isn't true,” I whispered.

“Aye, it is so, whether or not you will voice it.”

I stared at him accusingly. “You are cruel, Niall Garv O'Donnell. Why did I never see it before this?”

Without answering he changed the subject. “News from Dun Na Ghal reaches even beyond the pale.”

“What are you saying?”

“I know that the chief of Dun Na Ghal no longer shares his wife's bed.”

I blushed furiously. “That is no concern of yours.”

He hesitated and studied my face as if the words he would say were unpleasant to him. Finally he spoke. “Everything about you concerns me. Rory will not wait forever for a woman, not even if the woman is his wife.”

“How can you know such a thing?”

“Our world is a small one.”

I shook my head. “Rory will not put me away. I know him better than you.”

A cool wind rose from the east, rustling the marsh grass. Niall's stallion danced beneath him. He shifted the baby to his other arm to better control his mount. When the horse was quiet again, he resumed our conversation. “No woman knows a man better than one of his own blood.”

Niall had voiced my own suspicions. Tears burned beneath my eyelids. Blinking, I forced them back. “Perhaps 'tis your own mind you speak of and 'tis you who would not be faithful to your wife.”

He whitened under his tan and his face was very stern. “I do not lie with harlots. You, of all women, should know that.” His mouth gentled. “I would give my life for you, Nuala. My intent was to open your eyes, nothing more. Rory said he would not hold you if you wished to leave him. Come with me. I offer you a life with honor. Be a mother to our son and the ones that will surely follow.”

Nothing had changed. I loved Rory no less nor Niall more. But it was heaven to hear that I was wanted. The voices within urged me to accept him. After all, there was nothing for me at Dun Na Ghal. No husband, no children, not ever.

Then I realized what Niall could not have guessed. My mind battled with the demons of my conscience. I glanced at his face. His skin was drawn tightly across the high bones of his cheeks. He waited for my answer. I must give it. Despite what he had done to me, Niall had fathered my son and he loved me. For that alone he deserved the truth. “I can bear no more children,” I whispered. “The lad is my last child. I would risk it but Rory will not.”

“Nor should he,” replied Niall. “My God, Nuala, I am sorry.”

No longer able to speak, I merely nodded and would have turned away but Niall reached out and held my reins. “You haven't answered me, my love. Will you come home with me and be my wife?”

The man was addled. “Did you not hear me?”

“It changes nothing.”

“I can give you no more children. You should wed a woman who can bring you heirs.”

He nodded at the bairn in his arms. “I have an heir. I need a wife.”

For that single moment I loved him. But I knew it would pass just as I knew that I could not take advantage of his kindness. He deserved a woman who would not measure him against Rory O'Donnell. I covered his hand with mine. “May God bless you, Niall Garv. Take our son and raise him well. Tell him that I shall always love him. Send him to me when he is grown.”

He straightened and withdrew his hand, cradling the babe against his chest. “Are you sure, Nuala?”

“Aye.”

“It will not be easy for you at Dun Na Ghal.”

“No.”

“If I thought he would be safe, I would leave the lad with you.”

“Please don't.” I could bear no more of his sympathy. Pulling on the reins, I turned toward Dun Na Ghal.

His voice carried on the wind. “I'll wait, Nuala. I'll wait forever.”

I rode through the open gates at full speed, pulling tightly on the reins as I neared the banquet hall entrance. Perhaps what Niall told me was true. Perhaps, even now, Rory was with a woman. Sliding from the saddle, I threw the reins to the stable boy and hurried inside.

The hall was quiet and very dark, steeped in the shadows of late afternoon. I could hear my heart pound as I climbed the stairs. Rory's chamber was my destination. But as I climbed, my courage left me as my imagination grew. His door would be bolted. Should I knock and reveal myself, or should I wait until they came out together?

Pride rose within me and my steps slowed. I would accomplish nothing by playing the wounded victim. If Rory wanted a castle wench, he would take her. Accusations would accomplish nothing except raise in the woman a sense of false importance. No. I was Nuala O'Donnell, descendant of kings, countess of Dun Na Ghal. I would keep my position and let Rory believe I knew of his sin and it troubled me not at all. Of course, there might be no sin at all. Rory had never been unfaithful to me. He had told me so himself, and of the all things he did well, lying was not one of them.