washing in the river.
"Remove yourselves at once," one of the men shouted. "You're
sullying our fine river with your filth.':.
The others laughed and pointed, while the mother and her children
cringed in shame.
"Lord Ramsey." AnnaClaire hurried forward and said in a soft tone,
"You're causing the young woman embarrassment."
"I want her out of there at once. The sight of her offends me. Besides,
my wife desires a drink of water."
His wife held a handkerchief to her mouth and nose. "How could I
possibly drink the water now, Thomas, after seeing that peasant and
her brats? And look." She pointed to the basket of wet clothes lying
on the shore. "They actually washed their filthy rags in the river as
well."
A second woman pointed to a tiny thatched hut in the distance. "No
wonder these people bare their bodies for all to see. Look how they
live. Like animals in hovels. Have they no shame?"
Temper made AnnaClaire careless. "Perhaps it is you who have no
shame. And no decency. This poor woman had no way of knowing
you'd come upon her like this. The least you could do is give her a
moment to cover herself and her wee ones and allow her to take her
leave with dignity."
"Dignity?" Lord Ramsey's wife was outraged. "How can you suggest
that these barbarians have any concept of dignity? Look at them.
Filthy beggars."
The laughter of the others caused an ache around AnnaClaire's heart.
Striding across the space that separated them, she whisked off her
cloak and held it out to the frightened young woman. "Here. Cover
yourself with this."
The woman waded toward her through the water, clutching the infant
to her heart. The boy and girl clung to her wet petticoat, their eyes
wide and terrified.
When she reached the shallows, the young mother shook her head. "I
couldn't possibly accept your kind offer, my lady. Your cloak is far
too fine. I'd only soil it."
"I insist." AnnaClaire took a step into the water and draped it around
the woman's trembling shoulders.
"I'm grateful, my lady. If you'll wait here, I'll return with it as quickly
as I can."
"There's no need. I have another. This one is yours to keep."
AnnaClaire glanced at the shivering children. "See that you get them
home to a fire quickly."
"Aye, my lady. God bless you."
The young woman wrapped the infant in a ragged shawl and lay him
atop the basket, then hurried away without a backward glance,
struggling under the heavy load. Beside her the two children had to
run to keep up.
When AnnaClaire turned, the others, including Lord Davis and Lady
Thornly, were watching her in silence.
"Well." It was Dunstan who finally spoke. "You realize, my dear
AnnaClaire, that your fine cloak will fetch a pretty price at market.
That little strumpet will no doubt sell it to buy whiskey for her man."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps she'll use it to keep her wee ones warm in their
beds."
Dunstan threw back his head and laughed. "I can see that you need
someone to save you from your romantic notions, my lady. These
people don't give a care ahout their spawn. From what I can see, they
procreate like animals."
"Is that what you intend to tell the queen?" Temper caused
AnnaClaire to throw all caution to the wind. "Perhaps you would like
England to issue a decree prohibiting them from having children,
Lord Dunstan."
"It isn't such a bad idea. And I do think Elizabeth should see that these
people can no longer inherit, since they have neither the means nor
the will to improve upon their inheritance. Look around you,
AnnaClaire. Left in the hands of such as these, this country will soon
be fit for nothing more than savages and pigs."
AnnaClaire's voice rang with righteous indignation. "You would
know something about that, wouldn't you, my lord?"
Before she could say more, Lord Davis draped his own cloak around
her shoulders and forcibly turned her away. "Enough, my dear. There
is a chill breeze off the water. I think it's time we got you home."
"I haven't finished."
"Oh, but you have."
Before she could protest further, he hauled her along beside him,
leaving the others to follow.
As they made their way back to the waiting carriages,' Lord Davis
muttered, "You would be well advised not to anger Lord Dunstan, my
dear. He can be a powerful friend, or a dangerous enemy."
"I care not about Lord Dunstan. Or the others."
"AnnaClaire. AnnaClaire." He gave a sigh of disapproval as he
watched his friends approach. "If you do not care about the others,
give a care for me."
She touched a hand to his cheek. "You know I love you, Lord Davis."
He caught her hand and said sternly, "Then hold your tongue. We will
speak no more of this. And if Lord Dunstan is willing to forget, you
will do the same. Agreed?"
She took a deep breath, then nodded. "Very well."
"Good. Good." He patted her hand before helping her into the
carriage. And when, a moment later, Lord Dunstan climbed up beside
her, the old man breathed a sigh of relief.Still, as their parade of
carriages made its way back to Dublin, Lord Davis couldn't seem to
shake off the unsettling feeling that AnnaClaire might have gone too
far. He had heard rumors of Lord Dunstan's vicious temper. Those
who dared to cross him often found themselves not only out of favor
with the queen, but also found their fortunes dwindling and their
estates confiscated.
Lord Davis could only hope that AnnaClaire's beauty held enough
allure for the powerful Dunstan to keep her in the queen's good
graces.
When the carriage came to a halt at the door of Clay Court, Dunstan
graciously stepped down and offered his hand.
"Thank you, my lord."
"You are most welcome, my lady." He walked with AnnaClaire to the
door. "I would like to call on you tonight."
She forced a smile to her lips. "I'm afraid all this fresh air has
conspired to make me weary." She glanced to where old Lord Davis
was watching them intently, and carefully added, "Perhaps another
time."
"Of course. I'll pay a call on the morrow if I may."
"Thank you. Lord Dunstan. Until the morrow then."
He brushed his lips over her hand. "Good night, my lady."
AnnaClaire stepped inside and leaned wearily against the closed
door. The effort to be polite and charming in Dunstan's company had
left her exhausted. The feel of his lips on her hand made her skin
crawl. Still, she couldn't ignore her old friend's warning. Dunstan was
dangerous. She would do well to keep that in mind and behave
accordingly.
Moments later as she hurried up the stairs, she felt the weariness
lifting from her shoulders. Could it be because she was about to see
Rory O'Neil?
With a smile of anticipation she flung open the door to her room.
"Oh, my lady." Glinna spun around and clapped her hand to her
"What are you doing here, Glinna?"
"I was hanging your clean gowns, my lady." The little maid darted a
look around the room, then started backing toward the door. "Shall I
stay and help you undress?'
"That won't be necessary, Glinna. Good night."
"Aye. Good night, my lady." Relieved, the little maid fairly danced
out of the room.
From the hurried footsteps on the stairs, AnnaClaire guessed that
Glinna must be eagerly on her way to meet one of the stable lads. She
couldn't blame her in the least. Wasn't she just as eager to make her
way to the one who awaited her in the little attic room above?
She studied her reflection in the looking glass, taking a moment to
tuck up a stray strand of hair. A day in the fresh air had put a bloom on
her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Smoothing down her skirts, she
crossed the room, then came to a sudden halt in mid- stride.
The door leading to the attic staircase was ajar.
She distinctly remembered closing it that morning.
She lifted both hands to her cheeks at the sudden realization. If Glinna
had stumbled upon their secret, all their lives were in danger.
Everyone knew the maid could never be trusted to keep such a thing
to herself. If even one of her friends found out, it would soon be
known all over Dublin.
And then AnnaClaire thought about Dunstan's boast.
Though these people were patriots, many of them were also
desperately poor. The promise of gold could be too great a temptation
for even the most loyal of citizens.
AnnaClaire ran down the stairs in search of her maid.
"Glinna. Glinna." Her voice grew more frantic as she raced from
room to room.
In the kitchen she came upon Bridget and Tavis enjoying tea and
biscuits.
"Have you seen Glinna?" she asked.
"Aye, my lady. Just moments ago she ran out of here as though the
devil himself were after her."
"Sweet Savior." AnnaClaire whirled and left the old couple staring
after her as she made a mad dash up the stairs.
Rory O'Neil must leave at once. Else, if what she suspected were true,
he would surely face certain death.
Chapter Eight
'Rory. Rory O'Neil."
AnnaClaire was breathless by the time she entered the little attic
room. Her gaze swept the empty bed. Rory was standing in the
shadows. He was barefoot and shirtless, clad only in the black pants
she had provided.
He turned and she was jolted by the force of his presence. It wasn't
only the width of his shoulders, or the ripple of muscle, or the
carelessly handsome pose. It was an aura of strength, of purpose, that
held her transfixed.
"You must take your leave at once."
He strode toward her, catching her roughly by the shoulders. "What's
wrong, AnnaClaire? What has happened?"
"My maid, Glinna." She paused a moment to catch her breath. "She
was in my room when I arrived home. The door to this room was ajar.
Did anyone come up the stairs while I was gone?"
His eyes narrowed. "I slept on and off most of the day. But I
thought..."
"You thought what?"
"That I'd heard a footfall. When I investigated, there was no one
there. But I was agitated enough that I couldn't get back to sleep."
"I knew it." She turned away and began to pace. ' 'Our secret is no
longer safe, Rory. If she knows about you, others soon will. You must
leave now. I'll have Tavis prepare a horse and cart."
"Nay." He caught her arm to still her movements. "When I leave here,
I mustn't do anything that would lead the English back to you." His
tone lowered. "I've tarried here long enough. It's time to resume my
search for Tilden."
"You aren't strong enough yet to engage in battle."
"That's what I've told myself for days." He stared down into her eyes.
"But we both know I've been lying to myself. My wounds are healed.
The truth is, I didn't want to leave here. To leave you." He touched a
hand to her cheek. "But I must. Every day that I allowed myself to
stay here has put you and everyone in this house in danger."
"I've told you before. My father is a trusted friend to the queen.
English soldiers wouldn't harm me."
He touched a finger to her lips to silence her. "This isn't a game,
AnnaClaire. It's war. Even your father's friendship with the queen
wouldn't save you if they found out you'd been harboring their
enemy. Do you understand?"
She studied him a moment, warmed by his touch. Then, as another
thought struck, she was suddenly chilled. She would never be able to
feel his touch again. Hear his voice. See his face.
She took a deep breath and slowly nodded. "What do you want me to
do?"
"Have Tavis send word to my men that the time has come. They'll
know the plan." With his knife he forced the small window open.
Then, slicing his hand, he very deliberately stained the sill with his
blood.
"What are you doing?" She was horrified at the sight of fresh blood.
"Making it look as though I forced my way into your home. Go now,
AnnaClaire."
She started to turn away. "I'll have Bridget prepare some food."
"No food, AnnaClaire."
"But—"
He held up a hand to silence her protest. "When I leave here, I will be
the most hunted man in Ireland. There will be many, including my
own countrymen, who would capture me for the reward. Remember
what I said earlier. There must be nothing that would lead my captors
back to you."
She could see the wisdom of his words, even though her heart cried
out at the cruel thought of his capture.
"I'll be back, Rory."
"Nay, my lady. When Tavis is gone, join Bridget in the kitchen."
"I want to say a proper goodbye."
He crossed the room and crushed her against him while his mouth
moved over hers. "This is all the goodbye we can manage,
AnnaClaire." He kissed her one last time, lingering over her lips,
wishing he could do more, say more. "It will have to do. Now go.
Hurry."
She felt a sob catch in her throat as she turned away. She swallowed it
down. Not here. Not now. There would be time later for tears. For
now, there was so much to be done.
In the attic room Rory hurriedly dressed, tucking a knife at his waist
and another in his boot. Then he prowled the room, overturning a
small table, snagging the curtains on the edge of a basin, to make it
look as though an intruder had come through in a hurry.
With sword in hand he made his way down the stairs. Seeing no one
about, he descended to the main floor. Before he could seek out the
others in the kitchen, he heard the thundering hoofbeats of
approaching horses.
He cursed the timing. He'd known the English would move quickly
once they'd heard of his whereabouts. There was nothing to be done
now but to bluff his way through, and hope he could at least save the
reputations of those to whom he owed his life.
He stepped into a da
rkened parlor and listened to shouted commands
moments before the tramp of feet sounded on the walkway. From his
place of concealment, he watched as Bridget hurried to fling open the
door.
Lord Dunstan's imperious voice broke the silence. "Where is your
mistress?"
"In the kitchen, my lord."
"Out of the way, old fool." Dunstan brushed past the housekeeper and
strode to the kitchen, followed by at least a dozen armed men.
"Lord Dunstan." AnnaClaire set down her cup of tea with a clatter,
alarmed at the tremor in her voice. "What brings you back at such an
hour?"
"You employ a maid named Glinna Farley?"
"I do."
"She has claimed a reward for finding the Blackhearted O'Neil."
"Our Glinna?" Bridget paused in the doorway, making a valiant
attempt to draw attention from her frightened mistress. She clapped
her hands together. "How grand. Where did she find him?"
Ignoring her, Dunstan continued to study AnnaClaire as he said, "She
claims he is secreted in a room below the eaves."
AnnaClaire's hand flew to her throat. "Here? In my father's house?"
"That is what she says. Are you saying you know nothing about this?"
"My lord." AnnaClaire got to her feet and grasped the back of her
chair for support. "I couldn't say for certain, since I haven't been in
that room for many months. But I find it hard to believe such a thing
could happen in my own home without my knowledge."
"Then you don't mind if my men search the room in question?"
AnnaClaire glanced at the soldiers, then returned her gaze to
Dunstan. "Not only do I not mind, my lord, I insist." She lifted her
skirts and swept past him. "Come. I'll lead the way."
"Nay, my lady." Dunstan caught her arm and held her back, saying to
the soldiers, "Let the old woman show you the way."
As she listened to the sound of their footsteps, AnnaClaire prayed that
her trembling legs wouldn't fail her. She was no good at this
playacting. Could Dunstan sense her terror?
Had there been time for Rory to escape? Sweet heaven, what would
she do if he was still there? She would be forced to stand here and do
nothing as he was taken away in chains.
Several soldiers stood at attention near the door while she and
Dunstan listened to the sounds of muted voices and footsteps above.
Soon the voices drewnearer and one of the soldiers held up a hand
bearing unmistakable stains. "There's fresh blood on the sill, my lord.
Rory Page 10
