Fateful Encounter

by June Francis

  ‘Come on, lads, don’t give up yet,’ called the earl, as the two panting boys drew apart. ‘What do you think of them, O’More?’

  ‘They have plenty of fight in them. But I doubt you called me to discuss them, my lord,’ he murmured unemotionally.

  Amusement deepened the lines on the earl’s face. ‘Shall we walk?’

  Niall fell in step beside him. ‘You wish to discuss Mistress de Wensley’s kinsman?’

  ‘Not at all!’ Desmond sounded disconcerted. ‘Should I? That is your affair, O’More, and I understand your reasons for taking him captive. You and your cousin Dermot are close, I believe.’

  ‘We spent some time together as boys before I left the hills with my brother.’ Niall’s voice had softened. ‘The friendship forged then held good, although we did not see so much of each other.’

  ‘Ahh! Your brother! I had almost forgotten you had a brother.’ He pressed two fingers lightly against his forehead. ‘Now I understand your interest in Mistress de Wensley.’

  ‘My interest has little to do with my brother. I did not know who she was when first we met,’ he said warily. ‘Afterwards — ay, it made some difference.’

  ‘She is an attractive woman, who will need an eye kept on her if she does not return to England.’

  ‘I have something in mind.’

  ‘You plan to take her under your wing? You’re the right man to do so.’

  ‘I think so,’ replied Niall, with a flicker of a smile. ‘Is that all?’

  The earl shook his head. ‘Sil O’Toole is coming here later. A rare occasion, and a surprising one. I know he hasn’t much liking for my kind of Irishness. My family have lived here for nigh on two hundred years, and he still considers us intruders.’

  ‘My cousin Sil is a proud and intolerant man.’

  ‘He has a gift — so much can be forgiven him. He can hold a gathering mesmerised.’ He hesitated. ‘You will forgive what I say next, O’More, if it sounds inhospitable.’

  ‘You would like me to leave? You have heard of our quarrel and fear that I will pick a fight with him?’ He stared intently at the earl.

  ‘No! No!’ exclaimed the earl, sounding distressed. ‘I don’t ask that.’ He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘I tell you, O’More, that there is much about Sil that I cannot like. Even so ...’

  ‘... he is to be the guest of honour,’ finished Niall. ‘What do you wish me to do?’

  Desmond sighed. ‘Just do not make yourself conspicuous. Sit somewhere else, if you can.’

  ‘That is agreeable to me. I have no desire to eat at the same table as Sil. You do me no discourtesy.’

  ‘I am glad. Now let us talk about some other matter.’ He put his arm about Niall’s shoulders. ‘Tell me more of Mistress de Wensley. What are your plans concerning her? I pray that they are honourable.’

  Niall nodded. They began to walk and talk. Yet even as they did so, interesting and important as the subject was, part of his mind was searching for a way to discover what was bringing Sil to meet Brandon in Kilkea Castle.

  *

  Constance was wondering where Niall was ... Perhaps he had departed, for she could not see him anywhere at the high table. If he had gone, it must be for the best. She rinsed her fingers in the bowl as the pages silently moved along the line of people; her eyes wandered slowly about the hall. There seemed to be even more men and women this evening, their chatter filling the place with babble.

  Then she saw Niall sitting at one of the lower tables, and her nerves gave a funny little dance. Had he chosen to sit there to save any embarrassment, thinking that she might bring up the subject of Robin again? Suddenly she saw him stiffen, and an expression of such distaste crossed his face that her eyes were immediately drawn like those of the rest of the company to the doorway.

  A man had entered. He presented an awesome spectacle as he paused there to survey the company. He was extremely tall, and wore a full-length tunic that billowed in the slight movement of air. His hair was black and long, and he possessed a beak of a nose that gave his face a predatory cast. He strode to the high table, and a murmur rippled through the company. As he approached, Constance felt a shiver pass down her spine. His eyes looked almost black. They shone brilliantly and with great concentration on those sitting in front of him. Almost, she thought, as though he expected them to rise at his coming and to bow.

  The Earl of Desmond did rise, to welcome him in Irish. He answered in a surprisingly melodious voice. Brandon stirred at her side, and gave a tiny excited gasp. Constance looked at him, to see what she was convinced was almost adoration on his face. In a flash she realised who it was, and would have cast Sil another look except that he had sat down at the earl’s right hand, and supper was served. When the meal ended, Sil rose with the earl. Several times Constance’s eyes had been drawn to where Niall was sitting and she looked at him now, but again he was not looking towards her. What was it about this man that he did not like?

  A hush now settled on the hall, and Sil proceeded to speak. It was magic — she realised that almost immediately. His voice could create visions and stir the blood in a way that the earl’s had not. There was an entreaty in its tones that at times caused tears to start in her eyes, but then it would alter, and she felt angry, dissatisfied, even though she could not understand a word. When he finished speaking, there was no movement or sound. It was as though a spell had been woven.

  Then a man moved. She looked up quickly, to see Niall. For a moment she was aware of a vibrancy in the air, and of the two men staring at each other, then Niall walked out. It was as though a stopper had been pulled on a flask, and talk immediately filled the hall. She would have liked to leave herself, to breathe in some fresh air, but Sorcha began to ask in French her opinion of Sil, who was a bard. It was some time before she was able to get away, and by then most people were moving. The tables were being cleared, and the bard had disappeared.

  As she crossed the lawn, she was wondering if Sil had left already, or whether he had gone to meet Brandon. The remembrance of that earlier conversation between Niall and Brandon was clear in her mind. She was walking along the hedge when she heard voices. One she recognised as Brandon’s.

  ‘You have arranged it all, then?’ he asked excitedly. ‘There is no problem about the money?’

  ‘None at all,’ replied the bard’s voice in French. ‘If you knew me better, you would not have to ask. They will take what I give them and find pleasure in the deed. To kill the king of England will cause songs to be sung about us for ever more.’ The deep tones held a note of exultation.

  ‘Shh!’ whispered Brandon. ‘Do you have to say those words so loud!’

  Constance could almost see him glancing about, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her breathing.

  ‘You are like a rabbit, Brandon, always fearful of being snared,’ said Sil, with a hint of contempt in his voice.

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ muttered the Englishman. ‘You can flee to the hills. I must go to Kilkenny and see Richard, to make certain his plans have not changed.’

  ‘You will let us know the day of his departure from Kilkenny? I have told you where to meet my messenger.’

  ‘Of course.’ Brandon’s voice took on a nervous note. ‘But what do you intend doing about your kinsman? I had no idea of the situation between you.’

  ‘You can leave Niall O’More to me.’ There was menace in the words. ‘You are certain you told him nothing?’ Brandon must have nodded his head, because after that there was a silence and only the sound of retreating footsteps, and an indistinct murmur of voices as they must have reached the end of the hedge.

  Constance’s blood was racing so fast that she felt quite dizzy. What was she to do? She could not think straight. She pressed herself against the hedge as she caught sight of the men from the corner of her eye. They were not coming this way, but were heading towards the castle, seeming deep in conversation. Brandon lifted his head and glanced behind him. She again press
ed herself deeper into the hedge, praying that he would not see her. It gave way, and she fell, breaking some newly burgeoning twigs.

  Her hair was caught on a twig; then her sleeve caught as she attempted to free herself. She squirmed and tugged, wishing that she had never come out into this part of the garden. It seemed created for intrigue, and she wanted to free herself before anything else happened. Tears welled in her eyes as, gritting her teeth, she forced her way up, leaving wisps of hair clinging to the thorns. Her cheek received a scratch as she erupted on to the path.

  When an arm shot out and seized her shoulder, a scream was forced out of her. Then she realised it was Niall. ‘O, sweet Jesu! What a fright you gave me,’ she gasped.

  ‘I gave you a fright?’ The grey eyes narrowed as he stared down at her intently. ‘What were you doing lurking in there?’

  ‘I wasn’t lurking.’ Her voice was brittle, as her hand searched for bits of twig caught in her hair.

  ‘You weren’t meeting Brandon here, were you?’

  She started. ‘Brandon! Why should I meet Brandon? Besides, he’s with that — that bard!’

  ‘You have seen them together?’ His hand moved from her shoulder to pick a leaf from her hair. ‘Which way did they go?’

  ‘Towards the castle.’ She lowered her eyes, suddenly unsure of him, and whether he could have any part at all in this whole matter. Her fingers smoothed a snag in her scarlet sleeve. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because I take an interest in what my kinsman does.’ He brought his face closer to hers. ‘You’ve got blood on your cheek.’

  She made a noise in her throat and would have rubbed her cheek, only he shocked her by licking at the scratch. ‘Wh — What are you doing?’ A shiver passed through her.

  ‘Haven’t you ever seen beasts licking their wounds? Or heard how the Son of Mary used spittle to bring sight to a blind beggar?’ His eyes were level with hers, and suddenly she found it difficult to swallow. His tongue caressed her cheek again before his mouth came slowly down over hers.

  It was their only point of contact, and if she had considered, she could have pulled away, but the kiss was so gentle that she experienced no threat, only an unsought sensuality, He lifted his head, and she stepped back hurriedly. ‘You should not have done that!’ Her voice was uneven.

  Niall smiled. ‘You said Brandon went towards the castle with Sil?’

  ‘Ay, but what do you want with them?’

  ‘Later,’ he called, as he began to move away from her. ‘Stay away from Brandon.’

  ‘Ohh!’ Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands. She was angry with herself and Niall for leaving her without any kind of explanation as to why he was so interested in Brandon and Sil. Perhaps he did have some part in the plot she had just overheard? Although it had not sounded like it, from the way his kinsman had spoken.

  Her hands went to her cheeks. The king’s life was in danger, but what could she do about it? The earl — could he be trusted? He had welcomed the bard so warmly, and favoured the Irish. He had been unwilling to help her to gain Robin’s freedom. Was he involved? She paced the lawn, her thoughts in a turmoil, not knowing which way to turn. Why had she not pulled away when Niall O’More kissed her? She touched her lips, and without more ado, made her way towards the castle. It was getting dark.

  When she had almost reached the entrance to the hall, the tall figure of a man came towards her. He did not move out of her path, and was almost on top of her before she swerved. As she passed him by, he caught hold of her sleeve. He spoke in Irish, and she recognised the deep melodious voice. Anger surged inside her.

  ‘Would you please release me?’ Ice dripped from her tongue.

  He peered into her face, and gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You are the English widow who came with Brandon.’ The brilliant eyes seemed to bore into hers. She experienced a sudden lethargy, and her head began to swim. His head came closer to hers, and she tried to fight the unexpected weakness — she was struggling as his arms went round her. Then there came the sound of feet on the other side of the door. He released her abruptly, so that she almost fell. He swept her aside before striding off into the night, his light-coloured tunic flowing behind him.

  Constance clutched at the stone wall, as the door opened to reveal Niall in the entrance. ‘Have you seen Sil?’ he rasped.

  She nodded. ‘He went — that way.’ Her hand half rose, then fell. He touched her shoulder lightly, and was gone in the wake of Sil.

  Straightening slowly, she gazed after him. He was just a pale shadow in the descending gloom. On an impulse, she followed. She had almost reached the stables when Sil, on horseback, clattered past her. She spun round to see where he would go. Surely the gates would be closed at this time of night? He urged his horse on, scattering the guards, and set the horse to jump the gap in the wall where the mason had been working earlier that day. She ran the rest of the way to the stables, glad that the moon was abroad to give some light.

  As she entered, she saw Niall pulling himself up from the ground. ‘What has he done to you?’

  ‘Almost rode me down.’ He rubbed his head, before staggering over to the horses.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going in that state?’ she demanded, following him over.

  ‘Got to go after Sil,’ he muttered, swaying slightly as his hand reached for a bridle on the wall.

  ‘You’re in no fit state,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’ll go.’

  He stared at her. ‘You ... damn well won’t! It’s dangerous!’

  Her expression was scornful as she snatched the bridle from his fingers and dragged it over Maeve’s head. She was up in minutes. Niall’s mouth compressed tightly and he shook his head to clear it, and as she would have gone past him, he suddenly seized hold of her and somehow managed to drag himself up behind. They almost fell off, but she clung to Maeve’s mane, and he clung to her. The door was already open, so all the mare had to do was to move off into the moonlight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THIS IS pure madness, thought Constance, as she set Maeve to jump the gap. She shut her eyes, and hung on. The moon reflected light back from the white flanks; muscles bunched as the mare from Connemara leapt and soared into the air like some mythical creature from olden days. The guards, who had already fallen back to stare in astonishment after Sil, murmured in admiration.

  Constance’s whispered words in the mare’s ear contained a jubilant note as she came down to earth again.

  ‘One day,’ muttered Niall, ‘I shall go to Connemara to find a stallion — a worthy mate — for this mare of yours — and we shall breed such horses the like of which will be the talk of all Ireland — and England, as well.’

  ‘We, Master O’More?’ she questioned coolly. ‘You are presumptuous!’

  ‘And if I am, Mistress de Wensley, what is wrong with that?’ He placed his arm more firmly about her and rested his head against her back. ‘If you are to breed horses, you will need a man of my experience. And Pat — he would be another worth recruiting.’

  ‘So, I am to employ a horse-thief and his accomplice?’ she retorted in a mocking voice. ‘You must consider me a fool.’

  ‘You would be a fool not to consider hiring me, because — you — will not — find a better man.’ The words were slightly slurred.

  ‘Not only are you presumptuous, but you are conceited!’ She experienced a moment’s anxiety as she felt his hands loosen before tightening again and lacing about her waist.

  ‘I know my worth.’ He forced himself upright, and peered over her shoulder at the moonlit scene before them. He could only just make out the rider ahead.

  ‘You are quite impossible — and you would have been better staying behind.’ She paused. ‘Have you any notion where Sil is going?’

  ‘Hmm! I’m a man who knows what he wants,’ he murmured, ‘and I thought you a woman who possessed a similar ambition.’

  ‘Because I wish to breed horses?’ she asked impatiently, straightening her back as his h
ead rested against it again. He was much too close for her to be able to relax.

  ‘Because you wish to live inIreland and breed horses. You own land and a horse — I have talent and a few horses of my own. To be sure, Mistress de Wensley, we were fated to meet,’ he said derisively.

  ‘Ha! If that were so, I consider that fate has played a cruel trick on me,’ she responded vigorously. ‘Now, it is Sil’s destination that I am concerned about.’

  ‘I have some idea where he is going,’ murmured Niall.

  ‘Where?’ She felt his hands slipping again, and instinctively one of her own grabbed hold of one of his. ‘Do you wish to fall off this horse, Master O’More?’ she asked in a brisk voice. ‘If you do, I shall have to leave you and follow Sil.’

  ‘I believe you would, an’ all.’ He gave a laugh. ‘You are a hard woman, Mistress de Wensley.’ The fingers of his hand laced through hers. ‘But I have no intentions of falling off. The dizziness will pass.’

  ‘Did you bang your head when Sil almost ran you down?’ She wanted to pull her hand away — the way he held her fingers caused her nerves to behave erratically, and that was not good for her concentration; the ground was uneven in places and the moonlight cast shadows. It was dangerous to ride in such a way.

  ‘Ay, on the wall of the stable.’ His finger stroked the palm of her hand, and she would have snatched her hand away, but he held it firmly. ‘Don’t worry about losing Sil. I’m almost certain I know where he’s going. It might be best if we do lose sight of him for a while. We don’t want him to suspect he’s being followed.’ He paused. ‘Whydid you want to follow him, as a matter of interest?’

  For a moment Constance was at a loss for words. Should she tell him what she had overheard? Yet surely this man would have no love for Richard of England? Most likely he would favour such a plot.

  ‘I don’t like the man,’ she said at last. ‘And I think he’s up to some mischief — and, besides, you wanted to follow him, and it was an impetuous decision I made to go in your place.’ She shrugged casually. ‘My mistake, I think.’