L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep (17 page)

Evidently he wasn’t the
only impatient one; Domnal paced the length of the room, stopping near the
window and reaching to open the shutters.

“Get away from there,” Connor said, keeping his voice stern. He
brushed off his hands and stood.

Domnal spun and faced him, an expression of guilt written plainly
on his face. “Milord?”

What had he been about to do? Did he think to send a signal, or
to spy out the lay of the land from this lofty perch? Keeping the lad within
sight, Connor dragged a stool away from the table and thumped it down. “Sit.”

Domnal obeyed the terse command, slouching onto the seat and
staring at the scar on Connor’s face. “Were you wounded in battle, milord?” he
asked, eagerness in his tone and curiosity replacing guilt on his face.

“Nay,” Connor replied. He turned away and moved closer to Moira’s
door. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall.
What was keeping her? He listened carefully, but heard no sounds at all coming
from the other room.

He glanced at Domnal again and suppressed a groan. He’d thought
the chill of his answer would have quelled the lad’s interest in the mark, but
it didn’t appear to have done so.

“′Tis a nasty scar, milord,” Domnal said, his enthusiasm
undimmed. “What caused it?”

′Twas clear he’d have no peace till he gave an answer.
Perhaps the truth would silence Domnal’s prying before it went any further.
Besides, Connor had no patience left to hide who he’d been—the man he’d become
had more courage than to hide behind half-truths any longer.

He pushed away from the wall and came to stand by the window,
nudging aside the shutters to let the sunlight pour over him—over his face when
he turned toward Domnal. “My father cut me with a dagger. He believed me a
coward, and sneered at my feeble attempt to protect my mother from him. He’d
the right of it, for I didn’t even know how to defend myself from his blade.”

The door to Moira’s bedchamber slammed shut. His heart thundering
in his chest, Connor shifted his gaze from the stunned lad to the woman
hurrying to his side. “By the Virgin,” Moira gasped. Her hand shook as she
reached up and traced the slash across his cheek, her touch a balm that soothed
his pride even as it spurred his pulse. Settling her hand on his shoulder, she
leaned close. “
Your
back, as well?” she murmured, too
low for Domnal to hear.

“Aye.” Connor met her gaze and gave a silent sigh of relief.
While he saw the sympathy he’d expected in her eyes, he also saw more. Pride,
support …

Was it possible he could reveal the details of his past to her
freely, without worrying that she’d view him as weak? He wanted her to know
that he would always do his best to protect her.

She cupped his cheek with her palm and smiled. “Your valor
astounds me, Connor. You are a very brave man.”

Her words astounded
him
—humbled
him, made him feel the most courageous of men. “I thank you, milady,” he said
for her ears alone. Taking her hand in his, he pressed a kiss upon it before
gently turning her to face her brother.

The lad gazed at him in awe, for some reason—not the reaction
Connor had intended, yet it couldn’t hurt in these circumstances. Burying deep
his pleasure at Moira’s response—till he’d time to consider it at his
leisure—he settled his expression. “Now then, Domnal O’Neill—are you ready to
tell us what you were doing hiding behind that door?”

The lad looked from Connor to Moira and back again, uncertainty
apparent in his demeanor, before looking down at the table in silence. Perhaps
he didn’t know what to say … Or perhaps he didn’t have any information to
share, though Connor refused to believe that could be the case. O’Neill hadn’t
stumbled upon that passageway by accident.

Connor led Moira to the table and pulled out a chair for her,
then drew up a stool for himself once he’d seated her. She seemed hesitant in
her brother’s presence. Could it be that she couldn’t decide if she should
trust him? The look in her eyes when she gazed at Domnal appeared quite
different from her reaction to Aidan. Connor thought he saw affection mixed
with the indecision.

Perhaps once they discovered Domnal’s purpose for coming here,
she’d know how to respond.

Connor rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward O’Neill.
“I suggest you tell us something, lad, else I’ll be forced to lock you up in
the guardroom like I did your brother. Unlike Aidan, however, I’ll not set you
free come the morning.”

“You locked up Aidan?” Domnal asked, eyes round and amazement in
his voice.

“I did.”

The hint of a smile played around the lad’s mouth and brightened
his eyes. “He never said—”

“You couldn’t expect Aidan to admit it,” Moira interjected. “Our
brother is naught but a bladder full of hot air, ready to burst forth with his
own importance given the slightest opportunity.”

Connor bit back a laugh, for she’d summed up Aidan exactly.

Domnal didn’t bother to hide his amusement, chuckling merrily and
slapping his hand on the table. “Oh, aye—when he returned from here a few days
past, he was fit to explode.” Once again he looked from one of them to the
other, his gaze settling upon Connor this time. “You’re nothing like he
described you to Hugh and the others, milord. Not a bit.” He shifted in his
seat and his grin widened. “He said you were old and feeble, and wrapped tight
about my sister’s—” Connor caught his eye and he broke off, coughing. “Her
thumb, milord.”

“Did he indeed?” Anger filled Moira’s voice, fired her eyes till
they glowed a brilliant blue. “And what did Hugh have to say about that?”

Domnal glanced at his sister, then looked away. “I’d rather not
say, Moira. It’s not true, and it doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, his face flushed
red.

Taking pity on the lad—and Moira, who looked fit to
explode—Connor reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze, and sought
to turn the conversation to a topic more important to them than Aidan’s and
Hugh’s lies and insults. “Tell me, lad—why are you here?”

Domnal stared at them, so long that Connor imagined he could see
the wheels turning in the lad’s head, see him weighing what to say.

“You can tell Lord Connor, Domnal—tell him the truth,” Moira
said. “Say whatever you want. There’s no way our brothers or the MacCarthys
will know what you’ve told us. They need never know you were here, if you don’t
want them to.” She slipped her hand free of Connor’s grasp, reached out and
took her brother’s hands in hers. “You’re safe here, Domnal, for as long as you
wish to stay.”

Moira held her breath and waited as Domnal gazed down at their
joined hands. What would he do?

In her mind and heart, Domnal was still the lanky boy he’d been
when she’d left home to marry Lord Brien. She’d seen him over the years, but
always as a quiet youth lurking in their brothers’ shadows. She didn’t know
him—not the young man he’d become. Could she trust him?

It felt as though they waited forever for Domnal to respond. ′Twas
so hard not to hope that he’d brought the solution to their problems with him.
She schooled herself to patience, though she tightened her clasp on his fingers—for
encouragement, she told herself, not to compel him to answer.

But he finally returned the pressure and looked up at them both.
“I don’t know everything about what they’ve been up to, but what they’ve
done—what they’re doing—is wrong, Moira, isn’t it?”

“Aye, Domnal, it is.”

Connor shifted in his seat. “They caused Lord Brien’s death, lad,
as well as many others. All to seize a place—and people—” he added, his glance
shifting from Domnal to Moira, “they’ve no right to take.”

Domnal slid his hands loose of her hold and shoved back his seat.
“They want it all—the keep, your child and you, Moira!” He paced to the hearth
and stared down into the flames. “I don’t like Hugh,” he blurted. He looked up,
wearing the same petulant expression she’d seen too often upon her elder
brothers’ faces. Her heart sank. What if he’d turned out no better than they had?
“He’ll treat you just as bad as Aidan has—”

“Nay, lad, he’ll treat her worse.” Connor rose as well, striding
to the window and leaning against the sill. “Your sister and her child need
your help.
That
is how a man comports
himself when his family needs him—by giving them your strength and aiding them,
not by looking the other way or seeking how to benefit from their misfortune.
Can you be a man Moira will be proud to call brother? Will you help me to
protect her and the child?” he asked bluntly.

The change that came over Domnal as he listened to Connor was so
unmistakable, Moira slumped back in her chair and breathed a silent sigh of
relief. He stood straighter, his face firming into an expression of resolve. “I
will help you, Moira—and you, milord.” He returned to the table and leaned his
hands on the polished surface.

“Hugh knows a way into Gerald’s Keep,” he said, his blue eyes
full of concern.

“But Connor’s men will guard the passageway where you came in,”
Moira told him. She turned to Connor. “They cannot bring an army in through
there, can they?”

Connor shook his head. “Not now that we know about it.”

Domnal slapped his hand down on the table, making Moira jump and
sending her pulse racing. “There’s another way,” he cried. “He’s had sappers
tunneling away beneath the walls. He’s going to bring them down and take you
away, Moira!”

Moira fairly leaped from her seat and grabbed Domnal’s arm, her
demands for more information drowned out by Connor’s louder voice as he echoed
her requests. Suddenly she noticed that Padrig, bearing a heavily loaded tray
and accompanied by several servants laden with buckets of hot water, stood just
inside the chamber. She quieted, though she didn’t release her grip on her
brother.

“Beg pardon, milord,” the squire called. “I did knock.”

Connor fell silent and glanced up at him. “Come in—just you,” he
added as the others, crowded about the doorway, jostled against each other.
“And close the door behind you.”

Padrig did so, then placed the tray on the table.

Connor raked his hand through his hair and stared off into the
distance for a moment.

“Milord?” Padrig prompted.

Connor turned his attention to the youth. “Go to Will and d’Athée.
Tell them to post guards to take their places, and to join us here.” He nodded
toward Domnal. “We might have a way out of our troubles, thanks to O’Neill.”

Moira thought she saw a scowl pass fleetingly over Padrig’s face,
though she couldn’t be sure. Of course, considering the way Aidan had acted, ′twould
be a surprise if everyone here
didn’t
suspect Domnal for his name alone.

“Aye, milord, at once,” Padrig murmured. He bowed and hastened
from the room.

Moira’s stomach rumbled; a glance out the window confirmed that ′twas
midafternoon. She’d missed dinner when Sir Will took her to the undercroft.
“Sit. We might as well eat while we’re waiting,” she said. She laid out the
food and drink, then realized that Domnal and Connor still wore a heavy coating
of dust. “I’ll be back soon—I’ll find water so you can wash.”

Not waiting for a reply, she left the chamber.

She’d hoped that the servants would have left the buckets of
water in the corridor outside the room, but they had not; nor was there anyone
in sight. Sighing, she headed down the stairs.

′Twas just as well she went down to the hall, for she was
besieged at once by people with questions. She addressed what could not wait
and put off as many as she could before dragging herself back up the stairs.

This wasn’t quite what she’d intended when she’d headed for her
chamber earlier. She’d get no rest now—nor later, either. No matter what Connor
decided to do to stop the sappers, she didn’t plan to sleep through his efforts
to deal with the problem. Especially now, when it seemed the solution to their
troubles could be at hand.

She would never have foreseen that her brother Domnal might bring
them the information they needed. She was proud that he hadn’t fallen in with
Aidan’s plans, proud that he had courage enough to overcome his obvious
misgivings to do what was right. Not once in her life had she ever believed she
could depend upon one of her siblings for help.

′Twas a heartening thing to know that Domnal was on her
side, but it didn’t change the fact that she planned to remain a part of
whatever Connor decided to do.

She’d been involved with defending her home for months now. She
couldn’t stop simply because help had arrived.

Hopefully, Connor wouldn’t expect her to step aside.

If he did, he’d be in for a surprise.

“What does it matter if I
cannot wield a sword or shoot a bow?” Moira demanded. “There’s nothing wrong
with my arms. I’m sure I could hit someone with a rock or a stick with no
trouble.”

Slumped back against the wall of Moira’s solar, Connor ran a hand
through his hair, then rubbed at the back of his neck, though it did nothing to
ease the strain tying him in knots. He’d thought that washing away the dust of
the passageway and changing into clean clothes would have revived him, eased
his tension, but it hadn’t.

He wished now that he hadn’t eaten, since the food sat like a
stone in his roiling stomach. He let his gaze wander over the men gathered
about the table—Domnal, Will and Sir Ivor—all three carefully avoiding his
eyes. Clearly none of them intended to leap into the fray and help him.

Jesu, he hated confrontation!

Yet he could see no way to avoid it, not with this woman. “Do you
realize how close you’d have to be to do that?” he asked, his voice rising
despite his intention to remain calm.

“You think I’d endanger my babe, is that it?” The outrage on her
face matched that in her voice perfectly.

And made not a whit of difference in his decision.

“I wouldn’t permit you to be there even if you were a virgin
nun,” he snarled. “Jesu, Moira—there are trained men aplenty here to fight now.
There’s no reason for you to be defending the walls yourself.” He sighed.
“There’s a very good reason why you should not be out there, however. I want
you as far away from MacCarthy’s men as possible. What if they were to take you
captive? Have you considered that?”

The color drained from her cheeks before his eyes, and he felt a
brute for upsetting her. But he wanted her to realize the possible consequences
if she ignored his orders. If that meant frightening her, so be it.

He’d do whatever he must to keep her, and the child she carried,
safe.

When had his goal changed from handling the responsibilities
Rannulf had laid upon him to protecting Moira? In some aspects, they were one
and the same, but in his mind—in his heart—there was a huge difference between
safeguarding the widow of Rannulf s vassal and protecting Lady Moira
FitzGerald.

He risked a glance at her. Weariness lay heavily upon her,
dulling the brightness of her blue eyes and etching shadows beneath them. She’d
clearly slept no more than he had the night before, and most likely had done
too much this morning as well. After their clash in his chamber, he’d seen her
dealing with servants in the bailey, coming out of the kitchen shed, going into
the stables … Whenever he’d looked for her—and he’d looked often—he’d found
her hard at work.

Then he’d dragged her down to the passageway and set her to work
scraping at the wall as though she were the lowliest of servants. Add to that
the emotional turmoil of finding her brother lurking about in the hidden
passageway, his subsequent revelations … Connor drew in a calming breath.
At least she hadn’t insisted on going with them when Domnal had shown them the
full extent of Hugh MacCarthy’s inroads into their defense. Even so, ′twas
a wonder she hadn’t collapsed by now.

Not Moira FitzGerald, the strongest and most stalwart woman he’d
ever known.

But he feared for her—her and the babe both—if she didn’t allow
him to share the weighty load she’d carried upon her slender shoulders for far
too long.

Will cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve decided that Lady Moira
will not be joining us in battle, milord, what are your plans for the rest of
us? I assume you’ve something special in mind for Sir Ivor and me, since I
doubt you asked us here to finish off this lovely meal—” a sweep of his hand
indicated the remnants of their dinner spread out over the table “—while
watching the two of you argue.” He sent a grin Moira’s way. “No offense meant,
milady. ′Tis just that I prefer something a bit sweeter after a meal.”

Connor bit back a laugh, and he’d swear a glint of humor
brightened Moira’s eyes. ′Twas clear to him why Will’s fellows at l’Eau Clair
expected his japes and jests—he had a talent for knowing when they were needed
most.

Pushing away from the wall, Connor returned to the seat at the
table that he’d abandoned earlier, once they’d finished eating. He dragged the
chair closer to the table and reached into the pouch on his belt for the scrap
of parchment he’d used to map the areas where the sappers had plied their craft.
“Aye, I’ve plans for you both,” he said. He unfolded the sketch and weighted it
down with his goblet. “Look here, they were able to work their way under the
wall from the cliff. There’s a tunnel here—” he indicated the spot with the tip
of his dagger “—and here as well.” He made a sound of disgust. “The guards on
the tower walls couldn’t see a thing.”

“Why don’t we just fill in their tunnels?” d’Athée asked.

“Now that we’ve men enough for a proper guard, they won’t have a
chance to dig them out again.”

“Sapping a wall is a skill not possessed by everyone,” Connor
pointed out. “I’d rather eliminate them, then repair the damage they’ve
caused.” He glanced at Domnal. “Besides, from what O’Neill said, MacCarthy
himself plans to lead the attack.”

Moira reached out and turned the map to look at it. “If they’ve
decided that tonight is the night to attack, and Hugh brings an army with him,
will you be ready for them?”

“Moira, what are you about?” Domnal asked, his surprise plain.
“Do you think to teach Lord Connor his business?”

“I suggest you abandon that idea at once, lad,” Connor said. He
didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. Moira remained silent, but indignation
at her brother’s words was written plainly upon her lovely face.

Domnal shifted in his seat and glanced around the table, clearly
weighing each person’s reaction. “You don’t mind, milord?” he asked once his
gaze returned to Connor.

“′Tis very much your sister’s business how we plan to rout
her enemy. Hugh MacCarthy—and your brother Aidan—have caused her heartache and
misery, have threatened all she holds dear.” Connor didn’t bother trying to
hide his unyielding stance.

Domnal reached out and clasped Moira’s hand. “I beg your pardon,
Sister. I meant no insult. ′Tis habit, is all.”

She gave him a faint smile. “You’ve been too long in Aidan’s
company. ′Tis past time for you to leave that arrogant fool and learn how
other people live.”

Connor watched them, so much alike in looks, but in personality… For Moira’s sake, he hoped Domnal favored her, and not Aidan. If the fool
caused her harm, or preyed upon her sisterly affection, Connor would see he
paid dearly for it.

He closed his eyes and searched within the depths of his mind for
patience. By Christ’s bones, how had he believed himself ready to lead? How had
Rannulf? This petty squabbling made him want to reply in kind, to snarl like a
fractious child and lay about with his fists until he’d spent his anger. He’d
no patience for it, even when it didn’t directly involve him.

Was this how his father’s temper had grown beyond his control?

Opening his eyes, Connor shoved aside that terrifying thought and
stared hard at the sketch until his blood cooled. He eased his grip on the
knife and scratched a mark on the map at the place where Domnal had shown them evidence
of the invaders. “Will, I want you to wait here, hidden from view, with ten
men. Sir Ivor will go with you, since he’s more familiar with the area.” He
pricked the parchment again. “I’ll lay in wait here.” He straightened and
looked at each man, weighing their readiness—and in the case of Sir Ivor, his
willingness to obey orders. “I leave it to you both to choose the men we’ll
bring with us. The rest of our force will man the walls, and remain alert on
the inside lest anyone makes it through.”

Will nodded. “Aye, milord.”

Connor turned to Domnal, pondering whether he should trust the
lad. By the saints, he’d already decided to trust him; tonight’s plans revolved
around his belief that Domnal had been telling him the truth. Still, he didn’t
know how skilled he’d be in battle, nor did he wish to place the lad in a
position where MacCarthy or Aidan could use him against Moira. “I depend upon
you to guard your sister here in the keep. Go now with Sir Will. He’ll see you settled.”
He nodded dismissal. “I’ll join you in the bailey soon to finalize our plans.”

Will and d’Athée bowed and, motioning for Domnal to join them,
departed.

Leaving Connor alone with Moira.

Sheer will alone must have given her the strength to last through
the meal and discussion. The instant the others left, her shoulders slumped and
she propped her elbow on the table, her cheek on her hand. “Forgive my
rudeness,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn.