The Hart and the Harp

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  “In case you have any doubts about your important political alliances, I promise you, I shall look for my inheritance from my father when the time comes, and shall make Tiernan a good wife. But in exchange, you will promise never again speak to me of love. Nor will you ever see me again, except on important business, and never, ever alone.”

  “But Shive, I don’t want to lose you completely! That would be sheer torture!” Ruairi pleaded, sounding truly desperate.

  She shook her head, her rare eyes glittering with steely determination. “No, Ruairi, it cannot be. If I marry Tiernan, that will be the death of my old life, and the beginning of a new. I will never do anything to disgrace my husband or be unfaithful to him in thought or deed. I want to put the past five years of suspicion and hatred behind me, and enter Tiernan’s home at Castlegarren as a hopeful bride. He was Fiachra’s best friend for many years. That must testify to a good solid character."

  "Yes, it does. They were closer than brothers. I can never recall a cross word between them."

  She nodded. “Certainly from what I remember of him, he never seemed as bad as Father likes to paint him. But he's certainly not the kind of man who could tolerate another man making a fool of him over his wife. Nor would I wish to see your alliance with him and his clan break up because of me."

  "True."

  “You love me, I can see it. Or at least you think you do," she said with a sad smile. "When you meet the right woman, find real love, then you'll see all this has been youthful folly. I only hope you find love in whatever marriage you decide to make for the sake of your political ambitions. But until such time as you are safely wed, I wish you to keep your distance.”

  “Are you saying you don’t trust me?” Ruairi asked, hurt.

  “Aye, I am,” she declared bluntly. “You are a man of strong passions, Ruairi. Though you've held them in check for quite some time, who's to say you could do so indefinitely? I refuse to be a Helen of Troy, as you called me before. After my marriage to Tiernan, we will be cordial friends and cousins, but no more.

  “However, before we can make any further plans as to where I am to live, and what I am to do, you must go to my father, and get him to agree to your scheme. That may take a long time, and may indeed never happen at all. I must abide by his decision regarding my marriage, as you well know."

  "Indeed."

  She twisted her fingers together, suddenly struck by the enormity of what she was about to do by agreeing to her cousin's scheme. “This marriage also affects the entire clan. There will no doubt be many others opposed to it once the word gets out, not least of all my four cousins. There will have to be consultations, and that will take time.”

  “Very well, I shall go to Uistean now at Rathnamagh, and send a messenger to let you know how he received the suggestion,” he said, already heading for the door.

  She watched him go with regret, relief, and a new sense of her own power and purpose. She was no man's plaything. And though it was certainly a man's world, she was sure she could make a difference to her homeland if she kept her head. “Ruairi, one other thing?” Shive asked as he reached for the door latch.

  “What’s that, my dear?”

  “If you do by some miracle get my father to agree, then the sooner the marriage takes place, the better. As I’ve said, the consultations will take time. Moreover, it will be Christmas soon, and the spring will be here before we know it. I would have the marriage sealed before the summer campaigning season starts. I couldn’t bear it if any more lives were lost over Fiachra’s death. It's not what my brother would have wanted.”

  Ruairi admired her for her clear thinking and selfless devotion to duty, and came over to ruffle her burgundy hair affectionately.

  “You're right, Shive. The bloodshed has gone on long enough. I'll keep your sensible reasons in mind when I put my argument in front of Uistean. But the good Lord only knows how long it will take your father and the sept to consent.”

  “I pray it's soon, before more homes are destroyed and people left to starve or killed outright,” Shive said with a barely suppressed shuddered.

  Ruairi pulled her into his arms. She resisted slightly this time, but his lips were already covering hers. She allowed herself the small luxury of curiosity as his hands stroked down her back and his kiss deepened. But though she could sense his excitement, she was wooden in his arms, and merely felt relief when he finally released her.

  Ruairi stroked her cheek tenderly, and vowed, “This is goodbye then, Cousin. But remember, if you ever need me for anything, you have only to ask.”

  “And you, Ruairi. Whatever it is, I shall try to grant it as your loyal kinsman, so long as it doesn’t conflict with my duties to my own clan, or to my new husband, whoever he might be,” Shive promised. She patted his hand and watched him disappear out the door of her workroom.

  Shive exhaled a huge sigh once Ruairi had gone, and sat down in the window seat once again to gaze out at the heavy fall of snow. She knew in her heart that her father would never agree to Ruairi’s proposal.

  Once again she was forced to ponder her fate. The convent? Other cousins further abroad? A more suitable marriage? Going to live on her own in one of the clan’s other castles?

  She reflected once more on her marriage predicament. She was well aware that her own notions of suitability and her father’s might be very different. She might end up with goodness only knew who for the sake of a political alliance.

  For example, she had only ever met Muireadach O’Rourke once, but a more repellent individual she had never come across in all of her life. Oh, he was handsome, tall, broad, a great warrior with the scars to prove it, but his black eyes had glimmered with sinister intensity, almost like an eagle about to devour its prey. She had been only thirteen when he had come to Skeard to pay his respects to her family, just before Fiachra had been slain. Muireadach had tried to touch her... She had fought...

  She pushed the terrible memory from her mind forcefully. Not all men were like Muireadach, she reminded herself. Though it was true that she did inhabit a largely male world, she had never been treated with such brutality before or since. She was able to hold her own in battle, and in the great hall where they all gathered together for harp-playing, story-telling and other forms of entertainment. Never once had anyone treated her with such disrespect apart from him.

  But she knew she could not be content being married to just anyone. She had to have a husband whom she could admire and esteem.

  Shive acknowledged to herself now, albeit reluctantly, that she had never met any man who had impressed her as much as Tiernan O’Hara. And though she still strongly suspected him of being her brother’s murderer despite Ruairi’s arguments to the contrary, her doubts were mainly due to the fact that no other suspects had presented themselves in the past five years since her poor brother had been killed.

  But Shive was also willing to admit that Tiernan’s entire clan had suffered great losses at the hands of her own sept , the MacDermots. If her father Uistean were, by some wild stretch of the imagination, to agree to the match, she was determined that she would do her utmost to restore their family fortunes. She would help the two clans to live side by side, if not amicably, then at least peacefully.

  One final point which she considered to be in Tiernan’s favor was that though he might well resent her, he was by far the strongest warlord in the area next to her own father. He would serve as an admirable protector.

  In addition, as a great warrior, he would be away much of the time. She would have to be a wife, possibly even a mother, but her freedom would not be completely curtailed.

  She was encouraged by Ruairi’s information that Tiernan had had no use for women since he had been jilted three years before. Lots of men took concubines, having no interest in their wives except as political allies. If Tiernan was fond of the O’Rourke girl, he would leave Shive herself alone.

  It wasn’t that Tiernan wasn’t handsome. In fact he was stunning in every way. But ju
st because she might have to give her hand to him in marriage didn’t mean she had to give herself to him body and soul, now did it? There was more to a marriage than love, romance and passion. There was companionship, understanding, compassion, friendship too.

  This was, after all, a dynastic marriage. Surely a man like Tiernan would never fall in love with a hoyden like herself. She could do her best to modify her behavior so as not to cause anyone offense in her new home, if wed him she did. But she was so unworldly, unsophisticated compared to someone like Orla O’Rourke. It was ridiculous to even imagine that she could try to compete for his attentions.

  But perhaps he was a man worth competing for, she suddenly thought with a mischievous grin. Shive recalled the way Tiernan had looked when she had last seen him five years before. She had always admired his raven black hair, which had fallen to his shoulders in shimmering ebony waves, and his deeply tanned skin, the result of so many years out campaigning every summer.

  Tiernan had finely molded features, and unlike most Irishmen of her day, his beard and mustache were closely and neatly trimmed, and served to enhance his manly features. He had fine lips, and even teeth, which glinted pearly white the rare times he had ever smiled in her presence.

  But it was Tiernan’s eyes that were most arresting. They were an unusually dark blue, like the stormy sea, or a dark winter’s night, Shive mused fancifully.

  Shive recalled that Tiernan had always held her at distance as Fiachra’s much younger sister, though he had always been kind to her. He could not have changed that much in the past five years, could he? Surely Ruairi would never have suggested the match had he any doubts that she would be treated well in her new home.

  Shive also recollected with some embarrassment that she had had a childish amour for Tiernan many years before. But at the tender age of twelve or thirteen, what girl wouldn’t have fantasized about him? He had towered over her own tall lanky frame by at least a foot, was built of solid rippling muscle, and had bested her brother in every mock fight they had ever engaged in.

  But then, she had often beaten Fiachra too, she remember with a small smile as she recalled the secret training sessions her brother, and her youngest cousins Mahon and Ernin had allowed her to participate in behind her father’s back.

  “Learn how to fight for what you want,” Fiachra had always advised. “If it’s worth having, it's worth fighting for.”

  Shive admitted to herself that compared to Ruairi or her cousins, Tiernan O’Hara was the most handsome and powerful man in the region by a long way.

  But Shive shuddered as she recollected those eyes, so dark, so all-seeing, so perceptive that they seemed to stare into her very soul the few times he had ever paid any close attention to her. For the most part though, when she had been growing up, he had looked her with casual indifference. How much more terrifying those remarkable eyes would be glaring at her with hatred as a result of all that had happened between their families since they’d last met.

  Shaking herself out of her reverie, Shive moved over to her loom to weave a few more rows, and tried to push such ridiculous fancies from her mind. For one thing, her father would never agree to the marriage anyway, so there was no point in worrying about something that would never occur. There was the cloth bolt to finish, dinner to be seen to, and several books of household accounts to go over before they could start getting things organized for their Christmas celebrations.

  Shive tugged off her thick sheepskin jerkin and left it on the back of her chair as she ventured down into the cozier kitchen. Rolling up her sleeves, she joined her cousins’ servants in helping to prepare the meal for the rest of the family.

  Normally an aristocratic Irishwoman would never have soiled her hands with manual labor, but Shive was a firm believer in leading by example. Anything she expected the servants to do, she ought to be able to do herself. Actively running the kitchens also ensured that there was no waste or peculation of the household moneys, which she had kept a watchful eye on ever since she had been old enough to add and subtract.

  Shive tried to keep her mind off her conversation with Ruairi as she stirred the venison stew and added more seasonings. She reminded herself that the wedding would never take place if her father could help it.

  All the same, she couldn’t help wondering as she chopped vegetables and sliced bread, what it would be like to see the handsome and enigmatic Tiernan O’Hara again.

  Chapter Two

  Shive’s curiosity about Tiernan O’Hara was to be alleviated much sooner than she could have ever expected. For Ruairi Ua Conchobair returned to Skeard the following day with the unbelievable news that her father and the entire clan had assented to the marriage alliance after all.

  Shive gaped in astonishment as she sat weaving cloth at her loom. “I can’t believe it! Sit down and tell me every word he said.”

  Ruairi dusted the snow from the shoulders of his cloak, then spread it out on the settle in front of the fire to dry before coming to sit near his cousin.

  “Now, Shive, I’m not saying it was easy. Far from it. Uistean was furious at first. I spelt out all of my most effective arguments as carefully and persuasively as I could, including how the battle between the MacDermots and O’Haras had gone on for five years, and that it was about time someone had the sense to finish it. In the end he put it to a vote amongst all the clan members present at Rathnamagh. When they all gave their assent, he agreed to it himself.”

  “That’s marvelous. I’ll be so glad when we have peace again,” Shive said delightedly, but then saw Ruairi frown.

  “There’s something you are not telling me, isn’t there?”

  “Shive, I know you're sensible woman, so what I tell you now will probably not make the slightest difference to you. I only hope you’re not too hurt by it, that’s all.”

  “Tell me what he said,” Shive demanded.

  He rubbed his hands slowly, searching desperately for the right words. “Uistean has agreed to the match, but that doesn't mean he's completely happy about it. Therefore, he's imposed certain conditions. He wants you to go home to Rathnamagh to get your things in order there, and he stipulates that the marriage must be at Tiernan’s castle as soon as possible. He will not allow you to take more than your personal possessions, clothes and so on. Nor will any of the MacDermot clan be permitted to attend the wedding.

  “Lastly, you'll be welcome to enter his house once you have wed, but only for prearranged visits. And only upon the understanding that your husband will never be permitted to step foot inside Rathnamagh for as long as your father is still alive.”

  Shive sighed. “I suppose it could be worse, but it’s still a disgrace. It will be dishonorable to my uncle’s memory to marry so soon after his death, and it looks mean and shameful to make Tiernan’s clan provide the wedding feast when that duty normally falls to the bride’s family. Well, at least I won’t have any guests to eat them out of house and home.” She smiled wryly, trying to put a brave face on her acute disappointment.

  “Shive, your uncle Fergus would have understood that this is a chance for peace which you can’t afford to refuse. He loved you like his own daughter. He would be proud of you no matter what the circumstances of the nuptials. He always like Tiernan very much as well, I seem to recall.

  “As for the wedding arrangements, I have already spoken to Tiernan about the feast. He honestly doesn't mind. I'll give you away, so that matter too can be settled easily,” Ruairi sought to reassure her.

  Shive’s eyes widened in horror. “You’ve told Tiernan of my circumstances already without consulting with me first?”

  Ruairi took her hand and kissed it, before pulling up his wooden bench to sit closer to her.

  “I had to, Shive. There's one more condition your father has asked for. I needed to consult with Tiernan and the priest before I could finalize the negotiations.”

  “And that condition was?”

  “I know I said as soon as possible, but what Uistean actually said w
as that he wants the wedding to take place by the end of the week, before Christmas.”

  Shive shook her head. “But that’s impossible! My clothes, the financial arrangements--”

  He shook his head. “You will take nothing with you but what is here at Skeard, and the items in your clothes chest at Rathnamagh. In addition, your father will not accept a penny of Tiernan’s money as payment of the traditional bride-price, which Tiernan himself set very highly indeed, without my even having to negotiate.”

  “Good God! Am I to be completely shamed like this in front of everyone!” Shive exclaimed, angry tears springing to her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Shive. Your father said he couldn’t bear it if he had to wait through the usual preparations until the ceremony took place, with everyone talking about it. A wedding is supposed to be a joyful occasion, but given the situation you can understand his feelings. And you cannot blame him for wanting nothing from Tiernan. Not when he thinks Tiernan took everything away from him by killing Fiachra,” Ruairi argued in a reasonable tone.