Wild Roses (26 page)

"Aye, he's no love for Irish rebels," Maire
heard herself say softly while Finian, Tynan, and Innis stared at her now in
silence. "Nor does Lord FitzWilliam . . ." She fell silent, too, her
heartache suddenly so fierce that she looked down at her hands, tears stinging
her eyes. Only a low grunt of impatience from the commander of the guards made
her start, and she glanced up to see him striding toward her.

"I must go," she murmured to the
O'Melaghlins, who stared at her still, especially the harper whose eyes held a
curious light as if mayhap he had read her mind, her very soul. Unsettled, she
had wanted to assure them that she would do whatever she could to help, but the
commander of the guards was already upon her.

"Enough, my lady, I know the baron would not be
pleased—"

"Aye, so you've said." Unable to speak to the
man anything but stiffly as she wondered how many stripes he'd laid upon the
O'Melaghlins' backs, Maire brushed past him without another word. She heard him
pull the torch from the wall sconce, not having to glance behind her as
increasingly angry tears burned her eyes to know that Finian, Innis, and Tynan
had once more been swallowed by darkness.

***

"Rose?"

The sunny bedchamber disconcertedly empty and quiet,
Duncan felt unease grip him. His gaze flew to the open doorway leading to the
opposite room, doubts filling him no matter he knew the castle had been
searched exhaustively for any more intruders.

As if he were reliving those horrible moments of the
night before, he strode into the passageway with his hand upon the hilt of his
sword, but he sensed at once that he wouldn't find Rose in his private room
either. And she
wasn't,
a quick scan of the shadowy
interior, the floor still strewn with books and maps, making him curse
vehemently under his breath for the terror she must have suffered.

He had been a hairbreadth from striking the Norman from
the panicked horse when that arrow had flown out of the dark, yet to this
moment Duncan didn't know if he would have been in time to save Rose. He, too,
had seen the knife descending, his heart beginning to pound and his hands to
sweat at the vivid memory.

The long hours spent waiting for an attack last night
had been torture, as much for the thought of how close he'd come to losing her
as that her clansmen might appear en masse at his gates in the morning to
demand her release. But they hadn't appeared, and a thorough search of the
countryside within a half league of Longford Castle had shown no evidence of a
large force . . . only a small one, perhaps eight to ten horses, at the point
from where he guessed the arrow had been shot.

Duncan swore again as he strode back through the
passageway, more convinced than ever that some O'Melaghlins had been lurking in
the trees, and no clansmen of Rose's. His strong suspicion that the arrow
hadn't been aimed at the Norman as much as
himself
did
not bode well for his hopes for peace. Yet if he believed that to be so, why,
then, did it plague his mind still that Rose's captor had been skewered so
squarely in the back?

Forcing down instincts that told him it was no mere
accident of chance, Duncan looked to the rumpled bed and told himself he would
have done nothing differently no matter he no longer believed Rose's clansmen
had come—yet—to try and wrest her from him. And now they wouldn't have her; she
was his wife just as he'd said in all ways save the Church's blessing.

God's teeth, he would wed her now, this very day if
Clement hadn't advised him to wait to speak to her clansmen. That Duncan had
taken the matter fully out of their hands was likely to endear them even less
to the present circumstances. Yet Clement had said also, clearly chagrined to
speak of such a delicate matter, that if Rose be gotten with child, what more
could her clansmen wish for her sake than to see her properly wed?

Duncan scanned the room, at the crumpled towel dropped
across the washbasin, at the blanket pooled on the floor, and sensed Rose had
been in some haste to leave the tower.

He had hoped to find her still abed, where he had
planned to join her, needing no red-faced encouragement from Clement. He'd
burned to take her in his arms again even as he kissed her good-bye early that
morning and whispered he'd return by midday, stunned by the force of his
feelings for this one woman. To have babes with her . . . by the blood of God,
a family? Only days before he had thought never to take a wife, and now he
couldn't imagine his life without her!

Overcome by the vision of a future he'd never dreamed
he would possess, Duncan lingered no more but left his apartment, wondering
anew where she might have gone. He fairly ran down the steps, feeling more a
callow boy than ever before, so eager to see her, so eager to once more hold
her in his arms.

The castle was alive with commotion,
tenants
and villagers clearing the great hall in droves to return to their homes; he'd
deemed it safe to do so given no large force of vengeful Irish lay in wait to
wage battle beyond the fortress walls. And if a small contingent of
O'Melaghlins was nearby and intent upon fomenting trouble, Duncan imagined they
would hear soon enough from their chieftain to desist if the O'Melaghlin was
wise and had taken his latest offer to heart. For the sake of peace, he hoped
so—

"Duncan!"

He grimaced, trying to avoid Adele in the bustling throng
even as her voice shrilly rose once more to accost him.

"Duncan, wait!"

He stopped reluctantly, bracing himself for the
onslaught as soon as he saw the white, pinched look around his half sister's lovely
mouth. For the first time, he wished she were amusing herself with Gerard if
only to spare him having to listen to her.

"Duncan, I insist you speak to Rose as to her
manners toward her guests."

He stared at Adele almost stupidly, her words to him making
little sense. "Manners? Guests?"

"Myself, of course, and my retainers. A short
while ago she had the gall to ask me to leave Longford Castle . . . and she
called me a witch!"

Again Duncan could but stare, wondering if he and Adele
were speaking of the same sweet Rose. He couldn't imagine her calling anyone a
witch or demanding anything of anyone.

"Well, brother, have you nothing to say? She also
threatened to have me thrown into the moat! Clearly she has no idea of
hospitality, of civility, which is all the more distressing to me considering
you plan to take her for your wife. No proper Norman girl would speak so to
guests."

"And what did you say to encourage this . . . this
tirade?" he demanded, more to appease Adele so he could be done with their
conversation than that he believed a word of what she'd claimed. "I can
well imagine—"

"I went to give her my good wishes."

"Went?"

"To your rooms, of course. She was still
abed—"

"Dammit, did you say something to upset her?"
As Adele clamped her mouth shut, two bright spots of color appearing at her
cheeks, Duncan suspected then that Rose might have fled his apartment because
of his half sister, which made him scowl deeply. "Have out with it,
woman—"

"Very well, I will, since I had no chance to say
my piece last night when you made your grand announcement. This wretched idea
of yours to take her as your bride cannot stand! She's not fit to be your
wife—an Irish chit of what family we haven't a hint! And a cripple as well,
why, she looks as if she's sure to topple just to take a step—"

"Enough, Adele, you go too far."

"And I say you go too far! You have a duty to the
name of FitzWilliam to marry well and in a manner the family can be
proud—"

"Proud? By the blood of God, woman, have you
forgotten thanks to my family I'm known throughout the realm as a bastard? What
matters then whom I wed?"

She'd fallen silent at his fierce roar to gape at him
as had anyone in earshot, servants, knights, and tenants alike, most stopping
in their tracks until Duncan gave a look that sent them hurrying on their way.
As for Adele, she wasn't daunted for long. Her voice sank to a hiss.

"I've influence at Court, Duncan, King John and I
have long been more than . . . acquaintances. One letter to him and I can stop
this marriage. He'll agree a Norman bride is what you need to preserve the
barony—"

"Send your letter, woman, and seek your answer,
but don't forget it was my saving the king's life that won me Longford Castle
and all else I hold in Meath. I'll send a letter of my own, and the Justiciar
John de Gray. Then we'll see if spreading your legs to a king bears more weight
than the service of those willing to give their lives for him."

He didn't wait for her reply and doubted she possessed
one. At least for the moment, her face was as indignantly red as he'd ever seen
it. Instead he strode away, shrugging off their encounter as best he could and
doing his best as well to force down his fury. God's teeth, the woman could
rile him!

And what she'd said of Rose, he almost wished it
were
true. He would have enjoyed seeing Adele's face then,
too, to have been called a witch.

Yet it was impossible. The only times he'd heard Rose
come close to raising her voice was in anguish over things he'd asked her, and
then at Dublin Castle when she had insisted she could not marry him. Thinking
of her impassioned response to him last night, it was clear she was
relinquishing any fears she might have held. He wondered anew if she might be
that much closer to remembering more of her clan. He wanted to face them and
have the matter of their marriage agreed to and done, and well before any
letters need be sent to King John.

"Duncan!"

He looked down the length of the smaller assembly hall,
astonished to see Rose coming toward him in as much a rush as she was able. And
behind her was the commander of the guards for the dungeon, the burly fellow
appearing none too pleased to be following in her wake.

Duncan's gaze flew back to Rose, concern filling him
that she looked so pale and clearly winded. Her breathing labored as if she'd
just exerted herself, he gestured for her to wait for him to reach
her
but she ignored him, her expression doggedly determined.

"Duncan, this cannot go on! You must do
something!"

Longing to embrace her, he was as astonished, too, by
her outburst as that she stopped several feet from him and wheeled to wave her
arm at the commander of the guards.

"I insisted he accompany me when we heard from his
men that you'd returned. I'm so glad we found you. We must speak—"

"And I've been looking for you, no idea where you
could have gone."

"The dungeon, Duncan, to see the O'Melaghlins! I
told the serving girl Ona to watch for you so you might know, but she must have
gone back to the kitchen—"

"The dungeon, woman?"

Chapter 25

Maire gulped at how quiet Duncan's voice had
grown,
his stance no longer relaxed but stiff with tension.
Yet she rushed on and gave him a vigorous nod, her heart thundering with
indignation that had only mounted during the long and laborious climb up the dungeon's
steps.

"Have you been to see them, Duncan? They've
scarcely been given any food or water, they told me as much, and even the two
boys Innis and Tynan have been beaten mercilessly—oh!"

He had taken her arm so abruptly and pulled her aside
that Maire half stumbled, the commander of the guards clearing his throat and
uncomfortably looking the other way. Yet Dun-can's grip was so firm she'd had
no fear she might fall though she felt concern enough at how hard his
expression had grown, his voice still ominously low.

"The dungeon, Rose? In God's name, that's no fit
place for you!"

Maire had expected as much, though mayhap not his
vehemence, and she decided to stay as close to the truth as she dared in her
haste to explain. "Aye, Duncan, I knew you would think so, but it struck
me—I don't know why . . . mayhap because of all the commotion since we came
back from Dublin. I feared the prisoners hadn't been told they had three days
more—that they wouldn't be executed today! And I was right. Gerard de Barry had
told them nothing—"

"Nothing?"

Duncan looked stunned, and she felt his grip tighten
upon her arm while he seemed to speak more to himself than her.

"I ordered it last night, after you'd retired. I
went to find Gerard and told him to inform the prisoners . . . and he said this
morning that it had been done."

Maire didn't know what to
say,
astonished that Gerard would have purposely deceived Duncan even as he suddenly
shook his head.

"No, it was done and the O'Melaghlins lied to
you—"

"But I know they didn't lie, Duncan, aye,
think
of it! It makes sense Gerard wouldn't tell them the
truth, he hates them so much. He wanted them to suffer—"

"Enough, woman, we'll speak of this no more!"

He hadn't shouted at her, but his voice had been so
fierce that Maire gaped at him, tears
smarting
her
eyes. At once she saw regret
cross
his face, and he
swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly. In that instant Maire
understood that his anger hadn't been so much at her or anything she'd said as
that he couldn't accept Gerard had lied to him. But such a matter was between
the two of them, not her. Risking that she might press him further, she
nonetheless could not hold her tongue.

"Please, Duncan, the prisoners need more food and
drink. And an oil lamp at least so they're not left in the dark. If the
O'Melaghlin comes to Meath, will he not look with more favor upon peace if his
grandsons and Finian have been fairly treated?"