Highland Fire

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “I must admit that Mistress Peake’s food is far better than cold, dry partridge eaten in a damp forest.”

  “And I thought you were thoroughly enjoying your chance to live like a soldier, my lady.”

  They were both laughing as they followed the low rumble of masculine voices until they reached the refectory.

  Bright morning sunshine poured through the windows, making patterns of light and shadow on the darkened wooden tables. The men looked up as they entered. The hum of conversation ceased.

  “Ahh, lass.” Hugh Cleary lumbered to his feet and held a chair for her. When she was seated, he sat beside her, leaving Kieran to take the chair on her other side. “Last night, after you departed our company and the Englishmen had retired,” he added with a wink, “Kieran regaled us with stories of your adventure. We accused him of spinning tales like an old maid, but he insists every word is true. What say you, lass? Can you truly wield a sword like a warrior? Or has the man gone daft from his overlong stay in Fleet?”

  Megan found herself relaxing in the company of this man. “Perhaps you would like to challenge me,” she said with a laugh. “And see for yourself.”

  “Oh, lass. I could not lift a weapon against a lady. Especially one as pretty as you.”

  “She was counting on that,” Kieran interrupted. “’Tis how she manages to best so many opponents. They think her too frail to be an adversary of any note. And by the time they discover their mistake, they are already disarmed and helpless.”

  “Beware, my lord.” Megan glanced around the company of men. “If you divulge any more of my secrets, I shall have to challenge you. And you would not want to be beaten by a woman in front of all your friends.”

  The men howled with laughter at the sudden frown that touched his lips. “You see what I had to endure since first I met this wench?”

  Tavis Downey stared at his old friend from his position across the table, then turned his gaze on Megan. “Only Kieran O’Mara could come upon a lass who not only looks like an angel but fights like the very devil himself. The rest of us would probably find ourselves burdened with a female who looked like the devil and howled helplessly at every shadow that frightened her.”

  The men roared with laughter.

  “What happened to your hand, Tavis?” Kieran asked suddenly.

  Tavis dropped his hand to his lap. “I was helping old Padraig in the stables this morrow, and one of the horses took a bite.” He grinned. “The old man is growing slower by the day. He should retire to a pallet in the corner of the scullery.”

  “To be denied his chance to work with the animals would be the death of the old man,” Kieran said softly.

  “If your wound pains you, Tavis,” Colin said, taking his place beside Kieran, “let Megan care for it. She can grind herbs and roots into balm.” He shot a grateful smile at Megan.

  “Thanks to you, lass, my wounds are completely healed.”

  “A healer.” Hugh Cleary gave her an admiring glance. “I would hope to find you on my side, my lady, when next I go to battle.”

  Sir Cecil’s voice reached them from the doorway. “We will not speak of battle while I am under this roof. We will speak only of a way to bring you to our side peacefully.”

  All heads turned toward the doorway, where Sir Cecil stood beside Lady Katherine. With a gallant bow he placed her hand upon his sleeve and led her to a place at the table. The intimacy of his touch was not lost on Kieran, who watched with no outward show of emotion. But Megan saw the way the little muscle worked in his jaw.

  “Beware, my friends,” Sir Cecil said as he took his place at the table. “For one of your countrymen to even think of battle is a crime punishable by death.” He turned to Lady Katherine with a smile. “But I am here as your friend. I hear nothing; I see nothing.” He filled his plate and began to eat as though he had not a care in the world. He turned to Kieran and added as an aside, “I would only caution you to think what would happen to your dear mother if you and your brother were imprisoned again. Or worse, killed in battle.”

  It was Lady Katherine who interrupted, hoping to defuse the tension. She glanced around at the men at table. “Enough of this talk of battle. Where is your son, Sir Cecil?”

  “James is still abed. I fear the channel crossing, and our hunt yesterday, tired him. He will join us for a midday meal.”

  “When do you leave for England?” Kieran studied the man over the rim of his tankard.

  Sir Cecil gave a lazy smile. “I have not yet decided. When I made plans to come here, I thought you were dead. And so I intended to stay on and help your poor mother with her affairs. But now…” He waved a hand. “I gladly offer my services to you, Kieran, if I can be of any assistance.”

  “You are too kind.” When Kieran had finished eating, he scraped back his chair. “You will excuse me. I have much that needs my attention.”

  When he turned away, Megan had a glimpse of his eyes narrowed in thought. His smile, she noted, was wiped from his lips.

  When he departed the refectory, Kieran made his way to the library. Once inside he closed the door, then strode to the fireplace and stared broodingly into the flames.

  The jailer’s taunt still rang in his mind. “And the best of all is that ye were betrayed by one who calls himself friend to ye.”

  Kieran began to pace, his mind in turmoil. Who among his friends would betray him to the English? And for what reason?

  When their meal was finished Colin turned to Megan. “I was going to take Bridget for a walk. Will you join us?”

  “Aye.” She got to her feet and fell into step beside him.

  As they exited the refectory he asked, “Have you seen the gardens yet, my lady?”

  “Only from my balcony.”

  “Then we will walk there.”

  The door closed behind them, shutting out the hum of conversation.

  Colin watched as Bridget danced ahead of them. They made their way between rows of carefully tended hedges. Here and there among the hedges were formal rose gardens and benches made from carved stone.

  Megan glanced around in appreciation. A chorus of chirping birds hopped under the spray of water in a fountain, taking turns in a ritual of the bath.

  The beauty of the garden seemed lost on Colin. He did not even see the lovely flowers or smell their glorious perfume.

  “What troubles you, Colin?”

  “So many things. Things I cannot speak of.”

  “Oft times a problem shared seems less troublesome,” Megan said, laying a hand on his sleeve.

  Colin gave her a long, silent look. “Aye, I think I could speak to you as I could not speak to many women, my dear Megan. But much of what lies in my heart cannot be spoken aloud. To anyone.”

  She had so many questions. Was he a monk? And if so, why had he not told her? Or did he hope to become a priest soon? Why would that be unspeakable? She wondered, too, about the crimes that had brought him to Fleet Prison. But she kept her questions to herself. Whatever troubled Colin must remain his private torment until he was ready to share it willingly.

  “My little maid, Aileen, told me about Bridget’s parents.” Megan squeezed his hand. “I am sorry, Colin. You must miss your sister very much.”

  “Aye. I adored her. We all did.”

  “When you arrived in England, did you learn anything about her fate?”

  “Nay. There was so little time. Almost from the moment we stepped on English soil, we were followed. It was as if someone knew our intentions.”

  “Had you confided in anyone?”

  Colin shook his head. “Kieran and I have gone over this a score of times while we languished in prison. There were many who knew of our plans besides our mother and our friends. There is one among them who would betray us.”

  “How sad that it is often the one we love the most who causes us the most pain.”

  Colin glanced at her in surprise. “Aye. ’Tis true. But I cannot bear to think that it was a friend who sent us to that hel
lish place where we nearly lost our lives.”

  She drew him down on a stone bench. “Tell me about Bridget.”

  “I worry. She has been deeply affected by the loss of her parents.”

  “It is natural to worry about the child. But at least she has the love of her family to comfort her.”

  He watched as the little girl splashed in the fountain. “Aye. But she rarely speaks. It is as though she keeps all her thoughts locked inside. I spoke to my mother about it. She admitted that she cannot find the key to unlock Bridget’s heart. The child does not open up to anyone.”

  “Give it time, Colin. The loss of both parents must be a terrible thing.”

  “Aye. Time. Why must everything take so much time?” He continued to watch as the child bent to smell a cluster of flowers.

  Megan gave a gentle smile of understanding. “Tell me about Sir Cecil,” she urged. “How did the ambassador to Queen Elizabeth become such a friend to your mother?”

  “Sir Cecil was once much more than a friend to my mother,” Colin said.

  Seeing Megan’s surprised look he added, “In their youth, it was expected that she and Cecil Kettering would wed. But when my mother met Sean O’Mara, in the court of Henry, she lost her heart. She defied her father and turned her back on a life of luxury to be with the man she loved.”

  “How exciting and romantic, to deny all except true love.” Megan’s eyes glowed.

  He gave a short laugh. “It may be a romantic story, my lady, but though their love was a wonderful thing to behold, they chose a difficult path. King Henry desired my father’s counsel. He commanded that my father and mother remain in England. My father refused, stating that his people had need of him in Ireland.”

  “Sean O’Mara defied the King?”

  “Aye. He returned a hero to his people. But he incurred the wrath of many in Henry’s inner circle.”

  “And Sir Cecil?”

  “He apparently forgave my father for stealing away his first love,” Colin said softly, “for he offered us the chance to be educated at court. Though I must admit,” he said with a laugh, “my father resented it. He did not want his sons to have too much English influence. But my mother insisted that we accept Sir Cecil’s generous offer. And when my father died, Sir Cecil was kind enough to use his powers of persuasion with Elizabeth to see that my mother did not lose title to her estates in England.”

  “It would seem that he is, indeed, a good friend…”

  From the corner of his eye Colin saw a blur of movement. Both he and Megan turned to see Bridget standing on top of a narrow stone wall that ringed the fountain. Somehow she had climbed up and was starting to walk across. With her arms lifted for balance, she teetered perilously as she inched her way across.

  “God in heaven,” Colin cried. “Nay, Bridget. Stop.”

  Hearing his cry, the girl paused and turned her head. That sudden distraction caused her to lose her balance. With a cry, she toppled.

  Megan and Colin raced across the garden.

  Bridget lay in a heap on the ground. Blood seeped from cuts on both her knees, staining the torn hem of her pink gown. Tears ran in dirty little rivers down her cheeks.

  With great tenderness Colin knelt beside her and touched a hand to her cheek.

  “Can you stand, little one?”

  “My knees hurt.” She sniffed, wiping a grimy hand across her nose.

  “I can see that.” Lifting her gently in his arms, he murmured, “I shall take you in and have one of the servants clean you.”

  “Nay.” Her eyes were wide with pleading. “Do not let Grandmother see me like this.”

  “But you must be cleaned. I cannot—”

  “Nay. She must not see me bleeding. Please, Uncle Colin. You cannot tell her.”

  “Bridget, I must give you over to a servant.”

  The child began to cry harder.

  Megan reached out her hand. “Please, Colin. Let me take care of her.”

  He would have argued. But the tears in the child’s eyes were more than his tender heart could bear. “Will you let the lady help you?”

  With a shy nod, Bridget wiped the tears from her eyes. “Please put me down. I can walk.”

  Megan caught the child’s hand in her own and whispered, “Come. We will go around to the scullery, where no one can see us.”

  Megan gave Colin an encouraging smile and walked away with the child.

  At the scullery she said, “I will fetch a bucket of water. I can clean you here, out of sight of your grandmother.”

  “Nay,” Bridget cried. “One of the servants will tell. They tell Grandmother everything I do.”

  “I see.” Megan mulled it over for a moment. “I wish there was some way to get you up to my chambers without being seen.”

  The little girl gave her a conspiratorial smile and caught her by the hand. “Follow me,” she whispered. “We can use the servants’ stairs.”

  Climbing stone steps lit only by an occasional candle, they made their way to the upper floors of the castle.

  As they rounded a corner they nearly collided with James Kettering. After his initial surprise, he caught Megan by the arm to steady her.

  “Your father said you were abed this morrow, feeling unwell.”

  “Aye. I was. But I am feeling better now. What are you doing here, my lady?” Though there was a smile on his lips, his eyes wore the hard glitter of barely suppressed anger.

  Megan glanced at Bridget and saw the look of alarm that clouded her eyes. Thinking quickly she said, “We have been for a walk and had hoped to wash ourselves before seeing anyone.”

  He took note of the grimy little hand holding Megan’s, and the dirty smudges that streaked Bridget’s cheeks. Stepping aside he said, “I will not cause you delay, then, my lady.”

  As he swept past them, it occurred to Megan that James had not said why he was there. How did a guest discover these well-hidden back stairs, used only by the servants? And why would he choose to use them? Unless, she thought with a sudden chill, he wanted to hide his business from the view of others.

  Bridget was already tugging on her hand, eager to be on her way. Without another word, they hurried away.

  Except for a servant carrying firewood, they passed no one else.

  When they reached Megan’s chambers, she pushed open the door and led the child to a chair by the fireplace.

  “First I will tend these cuts,” she murmured, filling a basin with water from a pitcher. As she pressed a damp cloth to the cuts, she gave Bridget a warm smile. “Then we will see about cleaning you and that gown.”

  “You will not tell Grandmother?”

  “Not unless you choose to.”

  The little girl made not a whimper while Megan cleaned the wounded knees and stemmed the flow of blood. With that done, Megan helped her undress and wash. When she was clean and bundled into a blanket, Megan began to scrub the stains from the filthy gown.

  From her position on the chaise in front of the fire, the little girl watched with interest.

  “Did you ever cut your knee?”

  Megan winced. “I cannot recall. My childhood is lost to me.” She squeezed the water from the garment and shook it. As she worked she glanced out the balcony and gave a sigh. “If I were to imagine my lost childhood, it would be in a place like this, with trees to climb and horses to ride.” She turned to Bridget. “Do you ride the horses in the stable?”

  “Grandmother has forbidden it.”

  “Why?”

  The little girl sniffed. “She says my mother once fell from a horse and was nearly killed. She says she cannot bear to have anything happen to me, else her heart will surely break.” Bridget’s voice rose. “Grandmother says I am all she has left of her Fiona.”

  “I see.”

  Megan did see. With the loss of her daughter, in the care of her only granddaughter Lady Katherine had become overly protective of the child. And the more she tried to protect Bridget from all harm, the more the child strug
gled to break free.

  She hung the wet gown by the fire, then sat on the chaise beside the little girl and drew her onto her lap. “Your gown will be dry in time for our midday meal. Until then, I will brush your hair and we will spend some quiet time here in my chambers.”

  As she ran a brush through the long, fiery tangles, the little girl relaxed. Soon her eyelids flickered, then closed.

  While she slept, Megan watched her, feeling oddly moved by the little girl who struggled so valiantly to be independent. Though they barely knew each other, she sensed a kindred spirit.

  From her balcony she watched James returning from the stables. Even from so great a distance she could see that his stride was brisk and purposeful as he made his way to the scullery. It was obvious that he intended to use the servants’ stairway again. But did he use it for convenience? Or was there a more ominous reason he avoided being seen?

  She chided herself for her thoughts. These people were, after all, friends to Kieran and Colin. She must make a move to curb her mistrustful nature.

  Chapter Twelve

  F rom the window Kieran watched as Megan helped Bridget into the saddle. Padraig, the stooped old groom who had been with the O’Mara family for over three generations, stood at the horse’s head and held the reins.

  It had taken two days of coaxing before Megan had obtained Lady Katherine’s grudging permission to allow the child to ride.

  Kieran felt a surge of pride as he saw the way his sister’s child sat straight in the saddle. Leaning a hip against the windowsill, he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at the sight of Megan, gowned in sunny yellow, calling directions as Bridget took the reins and urged her mount to walk in a circle.

  The door opened. Kieran looked up as Colin crossed the room.

  “They are good for each other,” Colin said as he paused beside his brother.

  “I am not so certain.” Kieran frowned. “Mother is troubled by Megan’s influence on the lass. She fears she will next teach her to handle a sword.”

  The brothers shared a laugh.

  Colin’s smile faded slightly. “It would not be the worst thing she could learn.”