RORY
Ruth Langan
Book 1 - The O'Neil Saga
A MAN MOST WANTED
Rory O'Neil was hunted by every soldier who wore an English
uniform, but that would not stop his quest for revenge.
A MAN MOST DESPISED
He was hated by those who knew him as the Blackhearted O'Neil. But
to those who believed in his cause, he was the only warrior brave
enough to save them.
A MAN MOST LOVED
AnnaClaire Thompson knew the first time she witnessed his passion
that Rory was the man who would lay claim to her heart. But would
the driven Rory ever return her love?
For sweet little Macey Langan Bissonnette And her big sisters,
Aubrey, Haley and Kelsey And her proud parents, Carol and Bryon
And to Tom
Always
Prologue
Ireland, 1560
The chapel at Ballinarin, the ancestral home of the clan O'Neil, was
filled to overflowing with family and friends who had come from as
far as Malahide Castle in Dublin, and Bunratty Castle in Clare. The
mood was festive as they prepared to witness the union of Rory
O'Neil, eldest son of Gavin and Moira, and his beloved Caitlin
Maguire.
In a small room at the back of the chapel Rory paced while his
brother, Conor, stood by the door and watched as the last of the guests
filed into pews.
"What's keeping her?" Rory paused. Sunlight speared through a high
window, turning his dark hair blue-black. He was resplendent in
black breeches and shirt, with his cloak bearing the O'Neil crest
tossed rakishly over his shoulder.
"You needn't worry that she's changed her mind, Rory. The lass has
loved you since she was old enough to know her own mind. Just be
patient."
"Damn your patience."
Conor grinned. "Aye, that was never one of your virtues, Rory. But
give the lass time to make herself beautiful for her husband."
"Nothing could make Caitlin more beautiful than she already is. And
why should I be patient? I've waited a lifetime for this day."
"Aye. It seems like you've been in love with her forever."
"Since I was ten and two." He flashed the smile that had caused
maidens from Derry to Cork to dream of snagging his attention. But
Rory O'Neil had eyes for only one maiden. "I was born for her alone.
I tell you, Conor, this day my life will be complete." He lowered his
voice. "Did I tell you that I slipped over to see her last night? I told her
I couldn't wait until today. I wanted to lie with her."
Conor threw back his head and roared. "Don't let Friar Malone hear of
this."
"It wouldn't matter. She refused. She said she wanted to wait for her
wedding night. It was to be her special gift to her husband." He
grinned. "Husband. I like the sound of that."
"And with all this love stored up, I'm sure your wedding night will be
one to remember."
Both brothers turned as the door was thrust in and a slender lass in a
gown of pink gossamer hurried inside.
"I was afraid I'd be too late."
"Too late for what, Briana?" Rory couldn't help grinning at the sight
of his little sister. Her waist-length hair, the color of flame, was
wind-tossed. Her cheeks were bright with color. From the sound of
her breathing, he could tell she'd just run the entire distance from the
keep to the chapel. All her young life she'd been running to keep up
with her two older brothers.
"Too late to kiss my brother before he left me for good."
"You talk as though I'm going away. Caitlin and I will be living right
here on the grounds of Ballinarin."
"Aye. But you'll be a husband." She dimpled, and the two brothers
knew she'd overheard at least some of their conversation. But it
would go no further. Briana could always be counted on to keep a
secret. ' 'And in no time, seeing the way you two look at each other,
you'll be a father as well. And you'll have no time for a sister."
Rory drew her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll
always have time for you, Briana. And you can come over every day
and help Caitlin with the wee ones."
"Just how many are you planning to have?"
"At least a dozen. All the lads will be handsome like their father, and
all the lasses will have dark hair like their mother, and skin as fair as
the crystal water in the River Shannon, and so beautiful that I'll have
to lock them up to keep the local lads from stealing them all away."
Conor and Briana burst into gales of laughter.
"That's what I like about you, Rory. When you dream," his brother
said with a laugh, "they're always such grand dreams. Let's just hope
it isn't the other way around. After all, your sons could be small and
delicate like their mother, and your daughters could all be giants like
you."
"Not a chance. They'll..." He paused at the sound of a commotion in
the chapel and gave a smile of relief."Finally. I was beginning to
think—" At the sudden chorus of shouting voices his smile dissolved.
He hurried from the room, followed by his brother and sister.
A lad of six or seven, clothes torn and bloodied, stood gesturing
wildly. "English soldiers. More than a dozen of them."
Rory's heart nearly stopped as he shouldered his way through the
guests. He recognized the lad as a son of Caitlin's eldest brother. He
knelt down, caught him by the shoulders. "Where are the others,
Innis?"
"By the bend in the road." The boy's eyes were wide with pain and
shock. "My da fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. All I could
do was watch. They're all dead, Rory."
"No!" Rory's voice echoed through the chapel as he released the boy
and jumped to his feet, pushing and shoving through the stunned
crowd.
Outside he grasped the reins of the first horse he spotted and leapt
onto its back, urging it into a gallop. He could hear the sounds of
other horses following behind, but he never looked back.
He followed the bog road until he came to the bend. Even before he
got there, he could hear the strange, eerie silence. No birds sang. No
creatures moved. It was as though the entire land was holding its
breath.
And' then he saw them. The mass of bodies. Animal as well as
human. The ground ran red with their blood. The horses had died
where they'd fallen, with lances through the neck or heart. The men
had fought a fierce battle.'Many lay, face up, still holding their
swords. But the worst savagery had been inflicted upon the women.
Rory saw the flutter of white. Caitlin's bridal gown.
It was the only way he could identify her. He picked his way through
the carnage and knelt beside her. The gown had been cut away,
except for one sleeve that still clung to her wrist. From the marks on
her body he could see that she'd been brutalized before her throat had
been cut so violen
tly her head had nearly been severed from her body.
With a cry of pain and rage he gathered her against him and buried his
face in her bloody hair. His body shook with great, wrenching sobs
that spoke of a heart shattered beyond repair.
"Rory. God in heaven, Rory." Conor was the first to find him. He
could do no more than weep as he stood, watching his brother silently
rage against the horror of it.
As-the others arrived, Gavin O'Neil strode through the carnage to
stand over his firstborn son. His voice shook with raw emotion. "The
lad, Innis, says the leader was called Tilden by the others. Tall,
brawny, with yellow hair and a face disfigured by a scar that ran from
his left eye to his jaw. 'Twill not be an easy face to hide."
"I'll find him." Rory unfastened his cloak and used it to cover Caitlin's
nakedness. He staggered to his feet, cradling the broken body of the
woman who had been his reason for living. This night she would have
lain in his arms, in their bed. Instead she would lie forever in the cold,
hard earth. He looked up to stare at his family and friends. All were
weeping uncontrollably.
His own tears had dried. His eyes, hard as stone, stared beyond the
bloodstained ground. "I give you my word. I'll not rest until I find the
English bastard who did this."
His father laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll fetch a wagon to take
her and the others to be buried."
Rory shook off the hand. "No one will touch Caitlin. I'll carry her. It's
all I can give her now."
It was a somber, silent procession that made its way back to the
chapel. The guests in their wedding finery were a sharp contrast to the
bloody bodies being hauled in hay wagons. At the head of the column
walked Rory O'Neil, his tunic and breeches clotted with blood. The
body in his arms was completely covered with his cloak, except for a
spill of raven hair matted with blood and grass.
At the chapel he continued to stand and hold Caitlin cradled to his
chest as a hole was dug and Friar Malone began the words that would
consign the body to holy ground.
For hours, while the holes were dug and the bodies buried, Rory
continued to kneel silently at the mound of earth that covered his
beloved. And when the last body had been disposed of, he looked
around the grave site, then fixed his gaze on the distance.
As his family gathered around, he embraced his mother and father,
and kissed his sister's cheek.
Briana's cries became great, wracking sobs that shook her slender
frame. "You musn't go, Rory. Please, don't go. If you do, I'll never see
you again."
"Hush now." He held her close for a moment, whispering against her
forehead, "I'll return. Trust me."
Conor clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Will you let me come with
you?"
Rory gave a firm shake of his head. "It's something I must do alone.
You'll be needed here." He turned to his mother, who stood behind
Innis, her arms wrapped around his thin shoulders. "You'll see to the
lad?"
She nodded. "He'll be a son to me, until my own returns."
Rory strapped on a sword and tucked a knife at his waist and in his
boot.
His father removed his own cloak, which bore the O'Neil crest, and
wrapped it around his son's shoulders. Lifting his hand in benediction
he said, "May God ride with you, Rory, and bring you home to those
who love you."
Without a word, Rory pulled himself onto the back of his horse. He
turned for one last look at Ballinarin. In the distance Croagh Patrick
stood guard over the land. The mountain changed color so rapidly it
was never the same. Earlier, it had been a harsh gray-green in the
misty rain. Now it had softened to a peach hue in the warmth of the
fading sun. Its sides were cloaked with stunted, twisted shrubs and
trees and at the base, tall conifers and clumps of rhododendron.
Waterfalls tossed themselves over the side, spilling down until they
reached the river. Torn shreds of clouds drifted overhead. This lonely,
savage piece of land held his heart. It was the only place he'd ever
wanted to be. But now, the deceptively gentle scene mocked him.
Because of the violence that had occurred here, he would begin an
odyssey. An odyssey that could take him far away for years, or even a
lifetime, until this thing was finished.
Chapter One
County Dublin, 1562
So many of them, Rory." The voice was little more than a whisper on
the breeze.
Half a dozen figures crouched by the banks of the Liffey, watching
the English soldiers frolic in the brown water.
"Aye. I'd hoped for only a dozen or more. There must be close to
fifty." Rory turned to the weathered farmer kneeling beside him.
"Why so many?"
"Now that the English have discovered the healing properties of the
boiling spring, this river has become a favorite place for them to
congregate." He wrinkled his nose at the strong odor of sulphur. ' 'It
helps them relax after they've had the fun of killing a few of us."
Rory watched from his place of concealment. "You're certain the one
with the scar is among them?"
The farmer's eyes narrowed as he scanned the distant figures. "I
haven't spotted him yet. But he was with this group of bastards
yesterday when they caught my little daughter in the fields and made
sport of her."
His voice betrayed his pain. "She's only ten and one, Rory. And the
things they did to her. The one with the scar demanded to be first. She
told me he taunted those who refused to join in." In a fierce whisper
he added, "I want to be the one to kill him."
Rory touched a hand to his arm. "I know how you feel, Seamus. But
you've done enough. Go home to your family now."
"I need to see him dead." The farmer fingered his only weapon, a
small crude knife.
"Your family can't afford to lose you, Seamus. Go now. Leave the
killing to us."
"You'll kill him, Rory? For my Fiona? For me?"
"Aye. If he's here, I'll see the bastard dead." For Caitlin, he thought,
especially for Caitlin.
Seeing the hatred that glittered in Rory O'Neil's eyes, the farmer had
no doubt that his family's honor would be avenged. In the past two
years, all of Ireland had heard of the quest for vengeance that drove
this fierce Irish warrior. Wherever there was a battle between his
countrymen and the hated English, Rory O'Neil could be found in the
thick of it. He had killed so many soldiers, there was now a price on
his head. He was the most hunted man in the land. And the man most
despised by his enemy. He was known throughout England and
Ireland as the Blackhearted O'Neil. Despite the fact that his likeness
was posted throughout the country, Rory O'Neil was so loved by the
people, he could count on being safely hidden in any town or village
throughout the land. Everywhere he went, men joined his ragged
band in its quest for vengeance.
"Can we take them now, Rory?" one of his men whispered when the
farmer was safely gone.
"Patience, Colin." How odd that he now counseled patience, when
he'd had so little of it in his life.
He watched as the last of the soldiers stripped off their tunics and
walked into the water. Only a handful of men remained as lookouts,
while the others swam and bathed and splashed each other like boys.
"Ready, lads?" he asked as he stood and unsheathed his sword.
His men nodded and did the same.
A ripple of anticipation passed through them, charging each man with
almost supernatural fervor. The very air around them seemed
somehow changed. No one spoke. No one moved as they waited for
the signal from their leader.
"Now," Rory called in a fierce whisper.
They scrambled down the banks of the river, screaming like
banshees. The hapless guards didn't even have a chance to unsheath
their swords before they fell in their own blood.
The English soldiers, who had only moments earlier been laughing
and calling to one another, now struggled feverishly to retrieve their
weapons. Though they outnumbered the Irish warriors almost ten to
one, they had the disadvantage of being caught unawares.
Rory plowed into the water, using his sword with an economy of
movement. With each thrust of his blade, another man stiffened,
gasped, tumbled headlong into the river. In no time the brown waters
of the Liffey ran red with blood. And still the killing went on.
Each time he encountered another soldier, Rory stared into his
opponent's face, searching for the telltale scar. And each time, he
experienced the sting of disappointment when he realized this wasn't
the one he sought.
He had long ago stopped feeling the shock along his arm when his
sword encountered muscle and bone. And was able to block out the
muffled sobs and high- pitched shrieks of the dying. What he couldn't
erase from his mind was the sight of his beloved Caitlin, her body
bloodied and battered beyond recognition. This was what drove him.
This was what gave him the will to go on, no matter what the odds.
As he stepped over yet another body, he caught a glimpse of a soldier
with yellow hair plucking a sword from one of his fallen comrades.
At last, Rory thought. At long last, his quest would be ended. With a
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