Lord of the Isle (29 page)

Cara’s face took on a different expression, half calculation, half wonder. “Do you think he would? The Mac Donnell fears him.”

“I think he will if I ask him to. But you mustn’t fight him or struggle, like you do when I take hold of your arm. I won’t have anything but clean toweling to wrap you in, and it embarrasses big men to carry half-naked, squalling children.”

“Oh,” Cara said to that, as if she had had some revelation. Morgana wanted Hugh to see the marks on the girl. Maybe he would change his mind if he did.

“Would you like for me to help you out of the tub? You can dry off while I speak to him.” Morgana offered Cara her hand. The wood of the old tub was furred and slick on the bottom, and the stone floor of the bathhouse had the texture of glass when wet feet touched it. Cara gave the offer a moment’s thought, then accepted the help. Morgana shook out a sheet of toweling and wrapped the girl in it. “Dry all your parts, Cara, ears to nose, all the way to fingers and toes.”

Cara Mulvaine giggled. Amazed that she could, Morgana went out into the sunlight and looked for Hugh. He sat
on a nearby bench. His boots stretched far out ahead of him. His shoulders tilted back against the whitewashed wall. His fingers were neatly laced over his flat belly. His head was cocked to one shoulder, his eyes were closed, and a soft snore whistled out his parted lips.

Morgana woke him, stated her request and gave him the reason she needed Cara carried upstairs to Morgana’s guest chamber. It was reasonable, succinctly stated. Hugh’s expression indicated refusal, though he delayed answering outright as he thought her request over. He sat up straight, stretched his arms above his head, then stood and looked out over the blue sea.

“Morgana, we discussed this at length just a few hours ago, did we not?”

“Yes.”

“You’re trying to draw me into a problem that is none of my affair. Cara Mulvaine is a ward of Dunluce. The Mac Donnell is the authority here. If you feel she must be carried somewhere, why don’t you go speak to Sorely? Why are you bringing the problem to me?”

“Because you are here, and it is a waste of time to seek the Mac Donnell when you could do the task for me.”

“She’s eight years old, well into navigating about on her own two feet.”

“They’ll get dirty.”

“Morgana, her feet will be dirty as soon as she walks out of your bedchamber, in whatever shirt of mine it is you intend to put on her.”

“Hugh, do you dislike children?”

“You are changing the subject, lady.”

“Very well, you’ve made your point, my lord. Don’t feel you need to linger about. Cara and I are dealing with each other just fine. Thank you for your assistance.”

“You are welcome.” Hugh responded with the same politeness that she gave him. He nodded a dismissal and strolled off to whatever man’s pursuits he was about this day.

Cara came out of the bath holding her kirtle and dress in one hand, the toweling to her skinny chest with the other. The castle ward was empty, save for Hugh as he retreated to the postern gate.

“I could wash my dress and my kirtle and hang them in my tower to dry, Lady Morgana. You can go with him, if you want.”

“No.” Morgana shook her head. “I want to teach you how to comb and brush your hair. If we spend the afternoon together, I think I can teach you to braid it, too.”

Cara looked down at the crowd that still grouped about the chapel. “Then we’d better do it anon. I have lessons with the Mac Donnell at vespers.”

“What does he teach you, Cara?”

“How to write and script numbers.”

“Do you enjoy that?” Morgana slipped her arm across the girl’s shoulders as they walked to the manse.

“Aye,” Cara nodded. “I read the Bible to him. Some of the names, like Leviticus, are hard to say, but he says I read as well as Uncle James. I like numbers, too.”

“So some things you do please your grandfather?”

“Grandfather? Oh, you mean the Mac Donnell. I suppose he is my grandfather. Everyone calls him the Mac Donnell, though. It isn’t respectful to address him by any other name.”

T
he balance of the day passed quickly. There was plenty of work to do at Dunluce. Hugh had little advice to offer the Mac Donnell regarding any means of salvaging sunken cargoes from the ships sent to the bottom of Sorely’s bay. Hence Hugh gravitated to other work, where his skills could be of use.

The greatest damage done to the castle itself was in the stable. Its thatch-and-wood roof had gone up in flames. Most of Hugh’s kerns were occupied repairing the damage done to that building.

Since the turmoil of the night before, no one had given much thought to the horses. The animals had gotten short shrift this morning. The loss of manpower to Dunluce was staggering, in Hugh’s opinion. Sorely was old, and much of his staff had been with him all his life. The casualties among Dunluce’s grooms had been substantial.

Hugh took on the task of checking the stable animals for injuries and treating the cuts and burns he found. Boru had a serious blister on his rear left flank. Ariel’s worst wound was a cinder flash between her beautiful brown eyes. Both were infested with flies. Hugh cleaned them up and put a generous coating of salve on both burns.

After treating the rest, then mucking out stalls and hauling water and grain to them, Hugh did the unthinkable. He turned Boru and Ariel into the same paddock. Ariel was
definitely in season. Boru intimated he was up to the duty of siring a foal.

Hugh stayed at the paddock afterward, just to make certain his war-horse didn’t inflict any serious damage on the Arabian. Both were incredible horses, exemplary of their breeds. He ought to be finding something better to do with the time he had on his hands, but he couldn’t. He was troubled.

He kept thinking back to his last discussion with Morgana. Trying to put a finger on exactly why that talk bothered him so deeply wasn’t easy. He gave the lady much credit. She knew exactly how to couch a request. She hadn’t argued his decision. In fact, her acceptance of his outright refusal bothered him more than if she’d kept on, asking again and again, nagging at him.

Not that he wanted a scold or a nag for a wife. No, far from that, he wanted Morgana to bring him her problems and openly discuss everything that troubled her. He knew that she would be a most capable chatelaine and that Dungannon’s household would thrive under her management. She would also be a devoted, loving and caring mother, and for that he was most grateful.

Ariel chased Boru to a corner of the paddock, then, with a flirty toss of mane and tail, ran circles around the paddock, teasing him. Hugh grinned as he realized neither horse needed his assistance, not as a supervisor or observer. Mother Nature had everything in her capable hands.

As he walked away, he wondered what Morgana would have to say about his putting the two horses together. With most of the day now behind him, Hugh wanted to be with Morgana.

The majority of Dunluce’s inhabitants were still occupied with work outdoors. The castle seemed eerily vacant when Hugh walked through the great hall and up the gallery stairs. A turf boy replenishing peat for the few fireplaces in the main rooms was the only servant he encountered.

Windows, shutters and all the doors on the third floor of the manor stood wide open. A fresh breeze straight off the sea swept from room to room, lessening the acrid stench of smoke, saltpeter and burned gunpowder.

Hugh heard Morgana’s soft murmur as he approached her chamber. Inside the open door, he saw Morgana seated on a stool at the windows. The Mulvaine sat cross-legged before her, having her silky black hair neatly braided. They saw him at the doorway at the same time, and both fell silent.

“After all this time, I should have thought you would be done with the grooming,” Hugh said, by way of inviting himself in.

“It took a little longer than we anticipated to get all the tangles combed out,” Morgana replied evenly. She turned her eyes back to the braid she was making with her hands. “How have you spent your day, my lord?”

“With the horses.” Hugh came to a stop at the only chair in the chamber. It was a high-backed affair, carved with ornamental acanthus leaves. He seated himself and contentedly regarded the vignette before him—lovely woman and child, engrossed in their toilette. “Your mare has taken an avid interest in my charger, my lady.”

“Oh?” Morgana’s eyes slanted toward him. Hugh clearly saw one dimple flash briefly, though she didn’t smile. “Are you telling me that spring is in the air?”

“Aye.” Hugh grinned, liking the way she put things in their proper place. “I feel the urge to plow a fertile field or two myself.”

His innuendo caused Morgana’s eyes to dart over him—from casually leaned-back head to thoroughly relaxed feet crossed at the ankles. She missed nothing in her precise inspection.

“We’ll be done here shortly, my lord.” Morgana returned her attention to the girl’s braids. Cara very intently studied a knotted string at the bottom of one finished braid. She was oblivious of Hugh.

“I see how it’s done, lady,” she said brightly, turning to look at Morgana. “How often do I hafta do it?”

“Every morning and every night,” Morgana insisted.

“There’s nothing wrong with doing it in the middle of the day, too,” Hugh said with a smirk, although he hid the chuckles that followed behind his hand. Morgana nearly crossed her eyes, glaring at him. The blush that ran up her complexion to the roots of her hair informed him that she’d caught his meaning.

“That’s too often!” Cara got to her feet, the second braid secured. She had on a pair of Sean’s left-behind trews and a saffron sark of Hugh’s. Her bare feet stuck out of the bottom of the britches, nowhere near as dirty as they had been before the bath. “Thank you, Lady O’Malley. I’ll remember how to do the braids.”

“You look very pretty.” Morgana put her brush and comb into the child’s hands. “You may keep these, Cara. It’s my gift to you.”

“Oh, you mustn’t. Why, they’re silver, both of them.”

“I know, but they are mine to give, and I want you to have them and use them.”

“Oh. Nobody ever gave me a gift before.” Cara blinked in surprise. Her eyes suddenly took on a strange, unfocused look.

Fearing the child was about to cry, Morgana said briskly, “Well. I am pleased to be the first, then. Use them just like I’ve showed you. I don’t ever want to see you as untidy as you were today.”

Cara’s gaze remained unfocused. Morgana realized Cara was seeing something else, not her surroundings or Morgana’s face. It was eerie. Shivers cascaded over Morgana’s neck and shoulder.

Cara’s fingers skittered across the silver back of the brush. “I shall put it in the east tower as a gift for my guest. He comes anon, to give you blessings and speak with the O’Neill.”

“Who comes?” Morgana reached out to touch Cara’s cheek. Her touch broke the spell, and the child recoiled, as she had done so often before they became friends.

“You mustn’t touch me, lady. It is forbidden.”

“Who comes on the morrow, Cara?” Morgana repeated her question, intrigued by the child’s visions.

“I do not know his name, only that he told me now, ‘If Mohammed will not go the mountain, the mountain shall come to Mohammed.’ Lady, will you come back to Dunluce?”

“As the Mac Donnell is Lord Hugh’s vassal, I imagine I will. Hugh and I are your neighbors at Dungannon, and you are welcome to come and visit us there.”

“I’m glad.” Cara smiled, obviously pleased. She made a comical curtsy. Hands that gripped a brush and a comb extended a nonexistent skirt as she bobbed up and down. Then she ran out the door, her two treasures clutched to her chest.

Hugh got to his feet the moment the girl left. He took Morgana’s hands in his and drew her up from the stool, then continued to hold both her hands in his. “You have a heart softer than potted soap. Will you be saddling me with every stray waif that crosses the glen? That child is the strangest girl I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“You can’t classify Cara as a stray waif, Hugh. She has a family. They just don’t seem to care much for her. I don’t see why. She’s a sweet child, malleable and painfully eager to please, if one takes the time to get to know her. I intend to ask her to come to Dungannon after we’re married.”

“You may invite anyone you please,” Hugh agreed. “Dungannon will always be open to guests, travelers and pilgrims.”

“Then you won’t object to my telling the Mac Donnell that we will foster her. I am more than willing to sponsor her, teach her how to manage a household, and equip her with skills that a husband will expect her to have.”

“I am afraid to ask what brings on this generosity.”

“It’s just that I’ve thought about Cara since we spoke to the issue earlier. I believe when you write to the queen you
should have an alternative plan regarding the Mulvaine. It won’t wash just to say she’s lacking suitable attributes, without giving a reasonable solution to the future.”

“You forget the fact that I am not the girl’s guardian, or so appointed. She is a propertied Scots heiress.”

“All the more reason for you to assert your authority over the Mac Donnell. The queen would make Cara your ward.”

“Morgana, you don’t understand the facts here. If there is any dispute over Sorely’s wardship, it must come from the crown of Scotland. The Mulvaine is a Scot. Elizabeth’s interest in her is vengeance against her enemy, the Mac Donnell. The child’s a political pawn.

“What happened here last night is a direct result of Sorely’s demolishing Graham Keep and the murder of the marquess of Carlisle. Raids go back and forth, from the lowlands to the Irish coast, from Northumberland to Antrim. Drake was commissioned specifically to put an end to it. I’m not going to put Tyrone in the middle of this. My people have enough troubles, without adding Antrim’s.”

“You are in the thick of it, no matter how you look at it. Listen to me, Hugh, just carry it through. Suppose Elizabeth orders you to marry her, regardless of your wishes in the matter. Cara’s properties become yours. The Mac Donnell’s problems
are
yours. He is your vassal. You owe him support, protection, the weight and prestige of your office in addressing his petitions to the crown.”

“By the same token, in marrying you I take on all the burdens of repeated rebellions of the house of Fitzgerald against the crown, don’t I? In the eyes of England, your father is a traitor. You supplied him gold and properties for collateral to build an army to take Ireland from the crown. How far do you think Elizabeth’s indulgence to me will carry in favor of our marriage if I lay those facts on the table to her?”

“You’re changing the subject. I’m speaking to the issue of the Mulvaine, and the obstacle she is to our marriage.”

“So why not tie a rock and a rope around her skinny neck and toss her into the Irish Sea? Let’s be done with her once
and for all. What is it that you really want me to do, Morgana? Can I have the truth straight out, without all of this extraneous wrapping?”

“I told you the truth when the subject first came up. You brushed my words aside like lint off your sleeve.”

“Tell me again. Plain and simple, Morgana.”

“I promised Sir Almoy to bring both you and Cara Mulvaine to him at the Temple of Dunrath. He wishes to school her. It’s that simple.”

“You see fosterage as the means to reach that end?”

“Plain and simple, sir,” Morgana testily answered him in the very same tone. “You’re not leaving me many other choices. I gave my word to do what Almoy asked. I am honor-bound to stand by my word.”

Hugh’s fingers tightened upon her hands. “I would have the choices remain open to you.”

Morgana met the intensity of his eyes without flinching. She raised her chin, her jaw setting with unequivocal strength. “People vanish. Children disappear. Fairies steal babies and leave changelings in their places. Make up any explanation you want, Hugh. It boils down to one fact. I will arrange, by fair means or foul, for Cara to escape this beastly captivity of hers. I would rather she was granted permission to leave. If not that, I will kidnap her.

“I would have no qualms about doing so. She is greatly abused by your vassal, the Mac Donnell. Everything I have learned about the life Cara leads here at Dunluce tells me I would be morally right in removing her from the Mac Donnell’s domination.”

“You divined all this in little more than one day?”

“I have.” Outwardly Morgana didn’t waver, but it rattled her internally to realize that so much had happened in the passage of so little time. Righteously she declared, “I fell in love with you in less time than that.”

“Now who is changing the subject?”

“Play fair, and so will I. Sow deceit, reap deception. Argue irrefutable male logic, succumb to feminine wiles.
Whatever is necessary. I know how to survive and win, my lord.”

“That is pure braggadocio. You are smarting from your failure to move me. The girl will remain here when you and I leave on the morrow. By the time we get to Dungannon, you will have forgotten her and taken up some other righteous cause.”

“We’ll see.”

“You forget, love, that I know what moves you. You have an overwhelming need to champion those you deem victims. You went to great lengths to hide, protect and defend your brothers. It’s rather a touching virtue, Morgana, highly admirable. But…” He released her hands and tapped one finger against her nose. “Don’t push it so far that you alienate me.”

“Morgana…” Inghinn Dubh rapped on the open door. “Oh, hello, Hugh. I thought if I found Morgana, I would find you, as well. Are you busy? Could you come down to the hall? My father has found something important that he thinks you must see, Hugh.”

Sorely Mac Donnell should have been in bed with his burned foot elevated. Morgana didn’t think he’d even gone to sleep since the fire storm. She hadn’t, and she knew Hugh hadn’t slept. So they should have all been winding down, the way the sunny afternoon was dwindling into evening’s shadowy stillness.

But the air inside the great hall crackled with high excitement and unexplained tensions. All of which emanated from the old man agitatedly stamping back and forth on the cold flags of the hearth. His blackthorn staff chattered an impatient tattoo until Morgana and Hugh reached the alcove before him.