Wild Roses (28 page)

She'd never known her heart to beat so fiercely as when
he lifted his head to look into her eyes, and she opened her mouth to
speak—saints give her strength! But she no sooner whispered his name than a
fierce pounding came at the outer door, punctuated by Gerard de Barry's angry
voice.

"Duncan, a word!"

The moment fled, Maire had never felt such emptiness
either as Duncan cursed under his breath and
left her, the
bed vast and lonely and cold without him. Imagining what Gerard had come to
say, she watched silently as Duncan swept up his braies from the floor and
stepped into them, his sideways glance telling her to cover
herself
.

With trembling hands she obliged him, pulling a sheet
to her chin while he disappeared into the antechamber. She could tell he was
angry when she heard him open the door so fiercely that it slammed against the
wall. But Gerard, clearly undaunted, vented his outrage before Duncan could
utter a word.

"God's
blood, man, are
we
now coddling our prisoners? Food and drink fit for our own table, a lamp, fresh
clothes?"

"No large matters, Gerard, ease
yourself
—"

"Ease myself? First a sworn vow to me is broken,
and now my authority over the prisoners is stripped away—
full authority
you gave me, Duncan?"

At Gerard's raised voice, Maire sank deeper under the
sheet, imagining the look upon Duncan's face at how tightly controlled his
reply sounded.

"Nothing has been stripped from you. I wish our
arrangement amended, is all."

"At whose request? I heard that the O'Melaghlins
had an unexpected visitor—"

"Rose won't be going to the dungeon again. We
already spoke of it—she knows well I wasn't pleased. But her words to me made
sense that the prisoners need fairer treatment. It's a small price to pay to
further peace—"

"Peace! I see no messenger from the O'Melaghlin
asking to speak to you, Duncan."

"Give them time."

"Time? And if they don't appear in three days,
what will it be then? Three days more? A week? A month? I'd best have down
mattresses and fresh linen sheets sent to the dungeon to make the O'Melaghlins
all the more comfortable—"

"By the blood of God, Gerard, enough!"

Maire jumped at Duncan's roar, and she wondered that
two men who'd clearly long been brothers in arms would square off so fiercely
with each other. But even so, Duncan sounded calmer when he spoke again, which
evidenced the consideration he held for Gerard.

"Dammit, man, you take this as some personal
affront against you, but it is not! I vow it. The three days stand, whether the
O'Melaghlin chooses to come to Meath or not. If no peace is agreed to, the
prisoners will hang. Those rebels have plagued Meath long enough—burning
fields, stealing cattle. I told you I would suffer their raiding no more. Now, does
that satisfy you?"

Maire heard no response, but her blood was pounding in
her ears so loudly that she doubted she would have discerned one.

Burning fields? Finian had claimed it wasn't them, but Normans,
no doubt from all she'd heard of their ruthlessness the remnants of Walter de
Lacy's men. And the cattle? Mayhap the O'Melaghlins had stolen a few now and
again, but no Irish rebels, no matter how desperate, would wantonly slaughter
an entire herd. Such waste in harsh times was unthinkable.

"Save your hatred for the O'Byrnes, Gerard. I've
told you that before. If we've ever any in the dungeon, you'll have free rein
to do with them as you will."

"Dungeon? If I come across that bastard Black
O'Byrne, he'd never make it so far,"
came
Gerard's embittered reply. "He'll die where we find him."

"Then look to that day, as will I. Do you not
think I want to avenge Robert's death as well?"

Maire didn't hear Gerard's low answer, nor did she have
any desire to listen further, the blood utterly drained from her face.

Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, could she have been such a
fool? Had she truly believed love might overcome such hatred? And to think how
close she had come to revealing all . . . The yawning chasm between her and
Duncan suddenly grown all the wider and more impossible, she returned with
desperation to wondering how she might leave Longford Castle.

Saints help her, might she have to jump into the moat?
If it was the only answer, aye, she would attempt it, for it was horribly clear
that her remaining here would bring nothing but disaster. Each moment she
pretended things could be otherwise only prolonged what she knew must come. If
only she could think of some other way . . .

Maire's gaze flew to the door as Duncan reappeared, her
heart filled with such anguish she couldn't have summoned a smile now if he'd
begged her. He looked so grim, too, as he carried a tray bearing food and a
pitcher of wine to the bed, his exchange with Gerard clearly having tempered his
mood. She imagined their discord must pain him, evidenced when he breathed a
low curse as if still thinking of what he and his knight had discussed.

"Duncan . . . if you wish to speak further to
Gerard, don't trouble yourself over me—"

"You're no trouble, woman, it's all else that
plagues me." Duncan set the tray upon the bed, speaking almost more to
himself than her. "Two days more after this one and my hand will be
forced. Damn the O'Melaghlin for his stubbornness!"

"Mayhap it's not that as much as desperation, aye,
and why else wouldn't it be so?" Maire blurted out, as surprised at
herself
as Duncan appeared to be. Yet she rushed on, a
sudden desperate idea ruling her as well. "His grandsons and harper are to
be hanged, and yet it wasn't the O'Melaghlins who slaughtered those cattle or
burned your fields but more of de Lacy's men, Finian told me as much—"

"The harper, again."

Maire nodded as she drew a quick breath, astonished
that Duncan had made no move to silence her, though his eyes had darkened to
near black. Encouraged that he seemed to be listening to her, she didn't waste
a moment.

"I believe
him,
too, else
I wouldn't speak of it. That's how they came to be captured—they'd gone to
salvage the meat for their families when Gerard and your men rode down upon
them. Finian told me the O'Melaghlins
have
wrongly
borne the blame for everything while they want only to live in peace! They
desire the same as you, Duncan, yet mayhap the O'Melaghlin has given up hope
and from that comes his rash threat, while you still speak of executing those
dear to him in three days—"

"So what would you have me do, woman, release
them?"

Maire stared at Duncan incredulously, having to gulp
this time for air. His expression was so inscrutable she couldn't tell if he
was serious or grimly jesting.

"R-release them?"

"Exactly. If you were in my place, given what you
claim about the O'Melaghlins being falsely accused, what would you do?"

She must have turned pale, because Duncan poured a
goblet of wine and handed it to her. He said not a word and waited for an
answer while somehow she managed to take a sip, no matter her hands were
trembling, her mind racing.

What would she do? The situation suddenly reminding her
of how Donal MacMurrough had shown his gratitude to have his abducted daughter
Caitlin safely returned to him, it came to her that Duncan could very well win
the peace he wanted and she might have found a way to leave Longford Castle,
too. Pain piercing her at the thought, she found it difficult to speak for how
tight her throat had grown.

"Aye, Duncan, I would release them. Take them back
to West Meath and their families, to their home as soon as you can. Gerard may
not be pleased—"

"It isn't for Gerard to say."

Duncan's voice grim, Maire had no desire to touch
further that subject, instead staring into his eyes even as her heart quickened
that he stared so intently back at her. "It would be an honorable thing .
. . from an honorable man. Mayhap to have his grandsons and harper safely home,
the O'Melaghlin might even agree to help you fight against these Normans who've
done harm to you both—and for that, mayhap you could spare a few cattle now and
again so his people might have food?"

Maire had ventured much in that last
request,
she knew it well, especially when no ready answer came from Duncan, only
silence. Still he stared at her and her face grew hot, and when he took the
goblet from her and moved the tray to the floor, she felt warmth flood her from
head to toe. Finally when he spoke, his voice low and husky, she knew she was
lost.

"You've never said a word before as to what you
think of me. Did you know that, Rose?"

She could but nod, her blood thrumming wildly as he
climbed onto the bed and pushed her gently back against the pillows, blanketing
her with his body while he took care to keep his weight upon his elbows. And
still he stared at her, searching her eyes while his fingers entwined in a
midnight strand of hair.

"I would release the O'Melaghlins this very hour
just to hear you say again you thought me honorable . . . but tomorrow morning
will be soon enough for all preparations to be made. Does that please
you?"

Maire again, could only nod. She felt her heart full to
breaking that he would trust so completely her word about the O'Melaghlins. To
please her, she had no doubt either that he would agree to allow her to
accompany him to West Meath. It would only take her concern about being left
behind with Adele, and he would easily relent. Saints help
her,
all she must watch for then, was the right moment to elude him . . .

Maire drew in her breath as Duncan caressed her cheek,
his eyes burning into hers as once more, he spoke.

"Two days past you said you could not be my wife,
but now you defend me against Adele and call me honorable . . . adding to all else
that has changed between us. Tell me, woman, I must hear it from your lips. If
your clansmen come to demand you be returned to them, will you say that you
stand beside me and wish to become my bride?"

His heart and all he hoped lay bare in his eyes. Maire
somehow found the courage to answer, even though she knew such a wondrous thing
would never happen.

"Aye, Duncan, ay—"

His kiss silenced her before she could finish, and well
enough that he wouldn't see the tears threatening to fall. Yet she willed them
away and kissed him back, passionately, wildly, only this day left to her now
and one more precious night.

After that, there would be time enough to mourn when
she was home in Glenmalure and far, far away from Longford Castle and Duncan
FitzWilliam.

Chapter 27

Ronan angrily wiped fatigue from his eyes, willing in
vain that the drawbridge be lowered and Maire appear again as she had the night
before.

It had all happened so fast, he and his men no sooner
arrived at the spot where he'd chosen to keep watch over Longford Castle when
commotion had struck, a Norman bearing Maire in front of him attempting to ride
forth from the fortress. Ronan had known instantly at the hair prickling the
back of his neck that she was in danger, and he had been ready to vault back
onto his horse to chase the Norman down when he saw Maire grab desperately at
the reins.

That had made him seize his bow, an owlfletched arrow
set to the string before the Norman even raised his knife. By God, to think how
close, how close—

"Lord, let me take the watch. You need some rest,
even an hour—"

"I need nothing but my sister safely home,"
he cut off Flann O'Faelin, the huge Irishman not appearing surprised at Ronan's
vehement reply. Vivid moonlight illuminating both of their faces, Ronan wasn't
surprised either when Flann gave a grunt and stoically persisted.

"We rode much of the day, lord, aye, evading those
accursed spawn, and now more than half the night is gone, dawn soon to
come—"

"Let it come and I'll be here to face it.
Something is astir, Flann, listen."

As his clansman grew still beside him, Ronan strained
his ears, too, to hear again the clamor of men's voices carrying to them across
the barren land surrounding the castle. From where they hid at the perimeter of
the trees he had a full view of the fortress, though nothing there seemed
different, guards aplenty on the battlements, blazing torches lending an orange
glow to the night sky. Yet he sensed deep in his gut that men might be
preparing to ride out, mayhap not now but at first light, aye, just as they'd
done the previous morning.

Did the devil's spawn think another day's search might
bring them nearer to finding him and his clansmen? At one point the Normans had
ridden so close to them that Ronan had been sorely tried to keep an arrow from
his bow, the same dark-haired bastard who'd carried Maire back into the
castle—Duncan FitzWilliam, he had no doubt—well within his sights.

Just as the baron had been the night before until Maire
had slid from the frightened horse and thrown her arms around the man's neck .
. .

A low curse escaped Ronan, his gut clenching even as he
told himself for the hundredth time that she must have been terrified to do
such a thing—though he could not guess what discord had led one Norman to try
and ride out with Maire in his arms while the baron of Longford had come
running after with sword in hand. Yet so two years ago the Normans had fought
fiercely against each other, their king even coming across the water to Eire. A
pity they had not all been slain then.

"Aye, lord, you're right, I hear it,"
came
Flann's gruff whisper to distract him while Ronan
shifted his legs where he stood so they wouldn't fall numb. "Fools. Do you
think they make ready again to try and find us?"