by June Francis
‘My father is rich, but my husband was not. This land is the only property left to me,’ she said quietly. ‘All my clothes were provided by my father, as was the money to bring me here. But, now, Robin is my main concern.’
‘You couldn’t hold it alone, you know,’ he murmured. ‘You need a husband.’ His throat moved, and his voice was harsh when he added, ‘You could become a prey to the hawks on both sides — who would ruin you before they led you to the church door.’
‘Hush, O’More,’ rebuked the earl, as Constance’s cheeks flushed. ‘What kind of impression of us are you giving Mistress de Wensley?’
‘I am not a fool, Master O’More,’ interposed Constance, deliberately holding his gaze. ‘I know the kinds of beasts men can be.’
The earl stood up. ‘Then you will realise the wisdom of returning to your father, child. This is not the place for a woman alone.’ He smiled kindly on her before turning away and going over to Brandon. Some words were exchanged between them, and then they crossed the hall and went outside.
Constance and Niall were left staring after them, then she stirred as if waking from a trance. ‘It seems that my journey was wasted.’ The words were barely audible, but Niall heard them.
‘You misjudged the earl. He will not become involved in this matter, knowing how important it is that my cousin is freed as soon as possible.’ His voice was carefully controlled.
‘Just as it is important to me that my kinsman is freed as soon as possible. Well, I shall not be going back to England, Master O’More, if you think you would be rid of me in that way.’ Her face hardened.
‘I do not wish to be rid of you, Mistress de Wensley,’ he said quietly.
‘No?’ she said. ‘Why did you follow me here? I presume you knew that I was coming?’
He nodded. ‘I was in the inn, and heard you talking. How well do you know Master Brandon?’
‘I don’t think that is any of your affair, Master O’More.’ She began to move towards the door. His presence was really too overpowering.
‘He has his eye on you,’ he said irritably. ‘Do you consider it wise to entrust yourself to his protection?’ He caught up with her in two strides.
‘You — You dare to say that to me? I don’t consider you the right person to show concern about my virtue, Master O’More.’ She passed through the door and out into the warmth of the sunshine, wondering what to do next.
‘But I am concerned.’ He smiled — such a delightfully captivating smile that Constance had to stem the sudden fluttering sensations that it roused.
‘There is no need,’ she snapped. ‘Now may I have my mare back? Desmond said you were to return her to me.’
His smile vanished. ‘You are not proposing to go anywhere else today, are you?’
‘I have no notion where to go at this moment.’ She began to walk swiftly to the stables, wishing that he would go away. His closeness was making her aware of what passed between them during the night spent by the bog.
‘Stay till morning. Gerald asked you to.’ He strode beside her.
‘I don’t know if I would be safe while you are around, Master O’More.’ It seemed that she was not to be rid of him, and she could not think sensibly when he was near.
‘There’ll be hawking in the morning before Gerald leaves. Kildare was going to show him a new bird, but the falconer will do so instead. Stay till then, and perhaps you can make up your mind. Maybe I’ll be able to help you.’ He gave her a sidelong glance, which she met squarely.
‘You, Master O’More? You amaze me! The only way you could help me to make up my mind is by staying here, so that I will know that the best thing for me is to leave.’
‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow, most likely.’ He smiled. ‘That’s if I have a horse. Perhaps you would care to come with me and see how well I’ve cared for your Maeve? Did you know that her namesake was a queen who broke the hearts of men and caused the death of two of the bravest friends in Irish history?’
She nodded, was about to refuse, changed her mind, and walked swiftly alongside him to the stables.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘SHE’S A fine beast.’ Niall held out a wrinkled apple on the palm of his hand. ‘Pat said you told him her sire was Irish. I’ve seen horses like her in Connemara. I had a mind to buy one last year before my foster-father died.’
‘Pat is the ostler at the inn?’ Her hand caressed Maeve’s mane.
He nodded. ‘He wasn’t best pleased when I took your mare.’
‘Why did you take her? To annoy me even more?’ she suggested unemotionally.
‘Partly. And to prevent you from travelling with Brandon. I don’t like the man.’ He wiped his hands on his trews. ‘He dresses too fine for a messenger.’
‘You sound just like Master Upton.’ Her hand fell to her side.
He shrugged. ‘Master Upton is a perceptive man. I wonder whether Brandon really thought that by coming here you would be able to gain your kinsman’s freedom?’
‘I considered that he did so.’ She bristled slightly. ‘You said that you wanted Robin to exchange him for your cousin. How long could such an exchange take?’
‘It depends. Fortunately Dermot is not one of the more important hostages, like the O’Neill lads who have been held at Trim since 1390. It was their being held that resulted in the O’Neill submitting to Richard. Others soon followed.’ His face shadowed as he moved away from the mare.
‘Could your cousin not be freed if the king of Leinster and his allies left the mountains, as they promised earlier this year?’
‘Where would they go?’ He pushed open the door, and went outside. She followed him. ‘But why promise, if the vow cannot be kept?’
His eyes narrowed against the sun as he faced her. ‘King Art is guaranteed an annual payment of eighty marks to him and his heirs for ever.And his wife’s inheritance in the barony of Norragh.’ He whistled tunelessly.
‘Would he not have that, anyway?’
He shook his head. ‘Four years ago, her lands were taken into Richard’s control because she married the king of Leinster, one of Richard’s principal enemies. Art was determined to have what was rightly his. For it, he undertook that all his armed men of war, his household and his nation would leave and go with him at the king of England’s wages to make war on other lands occupied by the king’s rebels. He gave a bark of laughter, and kicked a pebble. ‘It seems a madness, doesn’t it?’ She nodded. ‘But understandable. Richard wishes to keep the Pale safe from attacks from the hills.’
‘He’s fighting to keep it English! And it’s a losing battle. There has to be communication between those in the hills and the people of the plains and towns. On both sides there are those who would adhere to the old ways, who wish to pretend that change means subjugation. We could learn from each other, but the English laws often work against our doing so. The English are forbidden to learn our language and to speak it, although many do. Now that French is no longer widely spoken because the new English tongue is taking its place, it makes sense for the English to learn Irish. For why should the Irish learn English?’
‘You’ve learnt it. I — I was surprised when you spoke to me in my own tongue when first we met.’ She sought to stem her rising colour, remembering how he had kissed her so enthusiastically.
‘I’m not an ignorant barbarian, for all you have called me one,’ he responded quickly. ‘I learnt it because of necessity, and because my foster-father taught me. But those who live in the hills have their own laws and ways of living. Their history is in the old tongue, written on their hearts. Just as the music in the soil is sung in our blood.’ He paused. They’ll never leave the hills and mountains, and I doubt there’s much Richard can do to force them. Besides, why should Irishmen fight other Irishmen on his behalf?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time you have fought each other,’ she responded impatiently. ‘Wasn’t it because of such tribal warfare that the kings of England and the Norman overlords came here?’
‘Ay,’ he said roughly. ‘And the man who invited the Normans in was a MacMurrough like Art. But you are mistaken in thinking that many kings of England have set foot here. Their barons, ay.’ He frowned. ‘Henry’s John; and now Richard. Only this century we were invaded by the king of Scotland, Robert the Bruce. In the annals it says that it was a terrible time. There was famine and murder. It’s even written that man ate man in those days.’
She shuddered. ‘Terrible, indeed!’
He came to a standstill by a bench. ‘But such talk isn’t suitable for your ears.’
‘I am not a child, Master O’More,’ she said indignantly, gazing up at him with wide brown eyes. ‘I am more than twenty years old.’
‘I am aware that you are a woman, Mistress de Wensley.’ His gaze washed over her as he placed a foot on the bench, resting his arm across his knee. The too ready colour rushed to her face, and she was lost for words. ‘No doubt Brandon is aware of it, too,’ he added softly. ‘You really should be more careful of the company you keep.’
Her mouth fell open, and then she gave a husky laugh. ‘You are warning me about Master Brandon? What about yourself, sir?’
‘Oh, I have no fear of Brandon,’ he replied, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘But you might be deceived by his fine clothes and polished manner.’
‘Oh, you are impossible,’ she cried, throwing up her hands. ‘It is you that I need to be on my guard against!’ His grey eyes gleamed. ‘Are you on your guard now? Because I warn you that if I were to try to kiss you, I doubt that you could prevent me.’ He straightened, and she stepped back hurriedly.
‘You shouldn’t talk to me like that — j — just when we were d — debating how best we can set about freeing our kinsmen.’
‘Isthatwhat we were doing?’ He was smiling that smile again that made her feel quite weak. What was wrong with her? How could this —barbarian — have such an effect? ‘I’d much rather discuss what you are going to do if you find your manor.’
She looked away. ‘Why should it concern you?’
‘Maybe it’s because I am concerned about you — a lone woman.’
‘You worry about the hawks, perhaps?’ she said sweetly.
He raised both eyebrows. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, it is none of your affair, Master O’More.’ She pushed at the gravel on the path with the toe of her shoe. ‘And I doubt that I shall be alone.’ She paused, gazing at the toe of her shoe, which was now dusty. ‘There is always Master Brandon I could call upon.’
Niall drew in his breath. Was she serious? ‘You’d be a fool, then,’ he rapped. ‘What can he know about running a manor?’
‘He doesn’t need to know anything,’ she murmured, hiding a smile. ‘Surely there will be a steward to run everything?’
‘And what if there isn’t?’ He folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back slightly on his heels. ‘You’ll be lost then. This isn’t England.’
‘Then I shall run it,’ she replied calmly, determined to wipe the smile off his face. ‘I am not the fool you think me. My father and stepmother saw to it that I knew something about such matters when they thought they were not going to have any sons. I would like to breed and sell horses also, so I would find myself a man who was well experienced where horses are concerned. I believe you know a little about horses, Master O’More?’ she declared with an air of innocence.
‘A little!’ He moved closer, and she stepped back hurriedly, felt the bench against the backs of her knees and sat down abruptly. ‘I wager Kathleen or Brigid didn’t tell you I knew a little!’ He bent over her. ‘I’ve lived and breathed horses since I was born!’
‘Surely you exaggerate?’ she retorted, a mite breathlessly. ‘Next you’ll be saying that you were born in the saddle.’
‘Not quite.’ The corner of his mouth quivered. ‘We don’t use saddles.’
Laughter caught in her throat and warmed her eyes. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and leaned closer.
From round the hedge came Master Brandon, startling them apart. His eyes searched Constance’s face before sliding to Niall’s. ‘You have not been pressing your attentions on Mistress de Wensley, I hope, O’More?’ he said angrily.
‘I do not consider that any of your business, Brandon,’ responded Niall brusquely.
A flush raced along Brandon’s cheekbones. ‘I brought Mistress de Wensley here. I have an interest in her welfare, and so feel responsible for her.’
‘Is that right now?’ he said in a rich Irish brogue. ‘Is it that maybe you’ve realised that, when an earl calls an inheritance small, maybe he’s comparing it with the size of his own possessions?’
Brandon’s mouth thinned. ‘I thought nothing of the kind! I am merely concerned for Mistress de Wensley. And I do not consider you to be the right company for her to keep.’
‘And you are, I suppose?’ sneered Niall, his gaze ruthlessly raking Brandon.
‘Master Brandon! Master O’More!’ Constance rose swiftly. ‘I beg you to stop this quarrelling.’
‘Why?’ demanded Niall, his eyes suddenly alight with mischief. ‘You should find it exciting to have two men fighting over you.’
‘Well, I don’t!’ she countered crossly. ‘And I am not staying here to listen.’
‘Well, go away, and come back later. We can finish our conversation then.’ Niall turned her round and gave her a slight push.
She gasped indignantly, but instead of turning round, she marched swiftly to the end of the hedge and round it. There she stopped to peer round the corner, and to listen.
‘You stink of the stables, O’More!’ Brandon was stepping away, as Niall advanced on him.
‘You smell as sweet and cloying as a whorehouse, man!’ snapped Niall. ‘No surprise that you and Sil O’Toole like each other’s company.’
‘Sil O’Toole!’ Brandon’s expression changed abruptly. ‘Why do you mention him?’
Niall could have kicked himself. He had not meant to mention Sil, but he would have had to be blind not to see that the name had a powerful effect on the Englishman. ‘My mother was an O’Toole. Sil and I are kinsmen.’ He smiled blandly.
‘He has perhaps spoken of me?’ asked Brandon eagerly.
‘He hasn’t told me everything. He’s ten years older than me, and always full of secrets that he’s unwilling to share,’ he parried.
‘He maybe has given you a message for me?’
Niall stepped back a little and folded his arms. ‘You were expecting one?’
Brandon shook his head. ‘He said that I would see him here, but he hasn’t appeared. And you’re the kind of man I would expect him to use.’
‘You flatter me, Brandon.’ Niall’s voice was expressionless. ‘But if Sil arranged to meet you, he’ll be here.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ Brandon sat on the bench. ‘I wish I’d known before that you were his kinsman. He’s told you about this affair?’ He shot him a glance that could not quite conceal a sudden excitement.
Niall smiled enigmatically. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘He’s going to use you?’ He sounded animated.
‘Sil uses everybody. He’s a glutton for power.’
‘I can believe that.’ Brandon smiled up at him, and his green eyes shone. ‘I admire him. He has a manner that is quite frighteningly ruthless.’
‘Oh, Sil’s ruthless. I could tell you tales that would make your blood get quite heated.’ His fingers wandered to his scar.
‘Another time, O’More.’ Brandon stood, and patted his arm, almost caressing it. ‘I didn’t really wish to fight over Mistress de Wensley. Her father’s quite sickeningly rich, but she does have two half-brothers. There’s not much there really in the way of power and money — and she’s a self-willed creature.’ He lifted a handkerchief and sniffed it. ‘But one has to keep up appearances. She has strange ideas of equality, and her father’s a Lollard. That could be dangerous for a man on his way to the top.’ He replaced the scrap of lin
en in his sleeve. ‘You are welcome to her, O’More, if you really want her.’
‘You’re too kind, Brandon,’ said Niall drily. He could not bear being close to the man any longer. ‘I must go. The earl wanted to speak to me. Good day to you.’ He strode swiftly away.
Constance darted back behind the hedge, her heart beating fast. Neither of the men had bothered to lower his voice, and she had overheard every word. She was angry for allowing herself to be deceived in the first place by Master Brandon, but at least she now knew the full measure of the man. As for Master O’More! Who was this Sil O’Toole, and why should he be meeting Brandon here? And Niall O’More, was he involved in whatever it was? It was a mystery.
She waited till Brandon and Niall had vanished in the other direction, and then wandered back to the bench and sat on it. The sun was warm on her face, like a caress, and she pondered over what might have happened if Master Brandon had not come round the corner when he had. Would Niall O’More have kissed her? How dared Master Brandon say that he was welcome to her if he wanted her! As if she had no choice in the matter! The arrogance of men was enough to make any woman of spirit rebel. And he had answered, ‘You’re too kind, Brandon,’ with a peculiar note in his voice. Had he been thinking, as she had at that moment, of the night spent by the bog? Had he found her to his taste? He had said that he would never forget that night! Agitated by the thought, she rose hurriedly. She was dwelling too much on what had happened — onthat man who had been at the centre of it. She ought to be considering what she was going to do about Robin. Her brow puckered as her mind searched for inspiration. Perhaps she should broach the subject again with the earl. She began to walk towards the castle, hoping she might find him.
Niall strode along, his thoughts on his conversation with Brandon, but was surprised out of his reverie by the Earl of Desmond calling his name. He lifted his head, and saw the two pages who had brought the finger-bowls to them at dinner wielding shields and light swords on the green. They were most likely the sons of noble families placed with the Earl of Kildare to learn fighting skills, and to observe how noblemen should behave at table and towards others.
