porridge taste heavenly."
"I believe I'll have to meet this sorceress," Conor said with a laugh as
he followed Rory and AnnaClaire from the room.
Behind them, as Gavin started to take his leave, Moira caught hold of
his sleeve and held him back.
"What is it, love?"
Moira's fingers closed over his arm, then tightened. "Did you see the
look that passed between Rory and this young woman?"
"Aye." He bit back the smile that threatened. "I'd say our firstborn is
smitten."
"He's much more than smitten, Gavin. He loves her. I'm sure of it."
Gavin patted her hand. ' 'Moira, my darling. Our son is only home
from his war for hours and already you have him lovestruck."
"A woman knows these things. That look was unmistakable. Rory
and this woman have grown... intimate."
She saw her husband's expression alter slightly. Even his chest
seemed to puff up a bit. Sweet heaven, what was it about men? Her
own heart was stuttering with fear over what she'd seen pass between
Rory and this stranger. And all Gavin could feel was some sort of
masculine pride that his son had won a beautiful trophy. But who was
this woman? Where had she come from? And what did she feel for
their son? So far they knew nothing more than her name.
Moira carefully composed her features as she entered the dining hall
beside her husband.
Gavin took his place at the head of the table, with his wife at his right
side, and his eldest son at his left. As everyone was seated the
servants entered bearing trays of mussels swimming in butter and
platters of brown soda bread.
Each servant paused beside Rory to offer a warm smile and a word of
welcome. Even the cook stood in the doorway, beaming with
excitement.
Knowing they were waiting for his reaction, Rory took his first bite
and closed his eyes in appreciation. "Ah, how I've missed this. Fiola,
I'll bet you caught them fresh this morning."
"Aye." The cook gave a sigh of relief that she had managed to add to
the family's celebration. "Along with the salmon."
"Wait until you taste the salmon," Conor remarked as he helped
himself to a second helping. "And the lamb. No one can cook lamb
like our Fiola."
AnnaClaire watched in astonishment as course after course was
brought to the table and devoured by people who were apparently
accustomed to working hard and eating well. There was mutton and
beef, fish and seafood, and the tastiest breads she'd ever eaten. Even
young Innis forgot his shyness long enough to get caught-up in the
spirit of the occasion. Two of the hounds had positioned themselves
on either side of him beneath the table, grateful for the scraps he
offered. By the time the servants offered brandied cakes heavy with
currants and nuts, the lad could manage but a single slice before he
allowed the hounds to lick the crumbs from his fingers.
Rory sipped his ale and sat back with a sigh. "For two long years I've
thought of nothing but this."
Briana glanced at him from across the table. "Wherever did you
sleep, Rory. And what did you eat?"
"I slept in haylofts. Fields. And sometimes in the cottages of those
who've heard of our cause. I ate whatever I could catch. Fish mostly.
An occasional stag when I had the luxury of time to hunt." He laid a
hand over AnnaClaire's. "Until that fateful day when I was wounded
on the docks. Then, for the first time in two years, I slept in a feather
bed and was fed the nectar of the gods."
"Tell us about yourself, AnnaClaire." Gavin signalled to a servant,
who filled his goblet. "How did you happen to save our Rory?"
"It was...quite by accident, I assure you." She turned to see Rory's
knowing smile.
So, he wasn't going to help her. She took a sip of ale and said, "I was
at Clay Court, my mother's home in Dublin, when I found Rory,
badly wounded, in my kitchen."
"How did he get there?" Conor asked sharply.
"My servants had smuggled him away from the docks in my wagon.
Hidden beneath my lap robe."
"How romantic." Briana clapped her hands in delight. "And so you
nursed him back to health."
"It wasn't quite that simple," Rory remarked dryly. "My presence in
her home gave the lady quite a shock."
"But she did nurse you back to health?"
"Aye. In time. But by doing so, she placed herself and her household
in peril, for there was a price on my head."
"Loyal citizens care naught about that." Conor frowned. "Any one of
us would have done the same."
Moira picked up on the thing that had caught her attention. "You
mentioned your mother's home. What did she think about the
danger?"
"My mother is dead."
Hearing the pain in her words, Moira felt a flash of regret. "I'm sorry."
"And your father?" Gavin lifted the goblet to his lips. "Is he dead as
well?"
"Nay. My father..." AnnaClaire glanced at Rory, then stared down at
her plate. "My father is away."
"Where?" Gavin asked.
"In England."
His hand paused in midair. "What business takes him to England?"
When AnnaClaire didn't immediately respond, Rory said,
"AnnaClaire's father is Lord James Thompson."
' The same James Thompson who is Counsel to England's queen?"
Gavin's face clouded with shock and disbelief.
"Aye." Rory nodded. "The same."
Gavin's hand tightened on the stem of the goblet until the glass
shattered. Ignoring the blood that gushed from his hand, he leapt to
his feet and stared at AnnaClaire as if seeing a monster.
The_ hounds, sensing the sudden tension, slithered away from the
table and cowered in a corner.
"Gavin, you've cut yourself." Moira stood and caught his hand but her
husband shook off her touch.
He kept his gaze fixed on AnnaClaire, whose face had lost all its
color. His tone rang with righteous anger. "I'll not have the spawn of
that devil James Thompson beneath my roof for even one night." He
pointed a bloody finger at her. "Woman, you will leave Ballinarin at
once."
Chapter Thirteen
Startled by the fury in Gavin's tone, the servants stopped in their
tracks. For the space of a heartbeat there wasn't a sound in the room.
Then, one by one, the rest of the family got to their feet and formed a
half circle behind him. Briana scowled at the hated Englishwoman.
Innis couldn't bring himself to even look at her, so deep was his
hatred of all things English.
Rory shoved back his chair and glared at his father across the table.
"If you order AnnaClaire from Ballinarin, you are ordering me as
well."
"Rory..."
He turned at the sound of his mother's voice, cutting her off with a
look. ' AnnaClaire Thompson risked her life, and that of her entire
household, to save me. I'll accept no less from my family."
Gavin's voice rolled like thunder. "Her father is meeting right now
with the monarch who is plotting the destruction of our land. I'll not
g
ive aid and comfort to our enemy."
' 'Had it not been for this woman you call our enemy, I wouldn't be
here having this discussion with you, Father."
"This is not a discussion." Gavin pounded his fist on the table,
sending crystal and silver flying. ' 'This is an order. This is my home.
I have the right to say who'll reside here and who won't. And I say..."
Conor stepped between his father and brother. He'd learned the art of
mediation from his earliest days as middle child in this passionate
family. Though he was as shocked as the others by the news of
AnnaClaire's parentage, his tone was deliberately conciliatory.
"Father, after two long years, Rory has come back to us. You know
how you've grieved. How we've all grieved. And now he's back, as
though from the dead."
"Aye. I've grieved. And now, what do I find? My firstborn in the
clutches of our enemy."
Conor's voice lowered, gentled. "You raised us to be honorable.
Would you deny Rory's debt of honor?"
"You know I would not." Gavin's anger was still apparent, but he was
beginning to see where Conor was leading him. And he bitterly
resented it.
"The woman who saved Rory's life is now in danger because of her
generosity to him. He's brought her to us for protection. Can we do
less than this noblewoman has done?"
Gavin wouldn't give up without a fight. "Her father is bloody
English."
"And her mother was Irish." Rory's voice was as defiant as ever.
"Irish?" Moira glanced at AnnaClaire, relieved for any break in the
tension, no matter how trifling. "What was her name?"
AnnaClaire refused to look at her. At any of them. She hated being
put in this humiliating position. This tug-of-war between father and
son. Hadn't she warned Rory that his family would resent her?
Rory answered for her. "Her mother's name was Margaret Doyle."
There was a new excitement in Moira's tone. "Was her father Hugh
Doyle? From Kerry?"
AnnaClaire's eyes narrowed. If these people dared to say a single
word against her beloved mother, she would flee this horrible place
without a backward glance. "Aye. Her father was Hugh. Her mother
was Claire."
"Oh, Gavin." Moira clasped her husband's arm. "I know of her. I
knew Margaret when we were girls. I'd heard she'd wed an
Englishman and had left to make her home in London. I'd heard, too,
that he was good to her. Despite the conflicts, he didn't force her to
abandon her faith." She lowered her voice and turned back to their
guest. "I'd heard that they were very happy. And you say she is now
dead?"
AnnaClaire's chin came up defiantly, to hide the pain. "Aye. Almost
two months now."
After a moment's hesitation Moira rounded the table and placed a
hand on AnnaClaire's shoulder. "So soon. 'Tis still a raw wound. I'm
sorry for your loss, my dear. Margaret was a darling girl. I'm sure she
was a loving mother and that you miss her very much."
AnnaClaire nodded, too stunned and moved by this woman's words
to speak. She would not embarrass herself by shedding tears in front
of these people who considered her their enemy.
"G&vin, we need some time to ponder all these things. It's all so new.
So confusing." Behind AnnaClaire's back, Moira stared long and hard
at her husband.
It was a look he knew only too well. He glowered at her and cleared
his throat. "Very well. We'll talk no more of this tonight. But on the
morrow..." At another look from his wife he turned to a servant.
"We'll take our whiskey in the library."
Moira exited beside her husband, followed by Innis and Briana.
"That was a close one," Conor muttered.
"You could always charm the birds from the trees." Rory clenched his
hands at his sides, still itching for a fight and feeling oddly deflated.
"But I didn't need your help."
"Nay. Not much. If I'd left it up to you, by now the shouts would have
led to blows. Left on your own, Rory, you and Father would settle
everything with your fists or your swords."
"There are times when even your silver tongue won't win the
argument. When it happens, Conor, you'll be grateful for my sword."
Rory turned his attention to AnnaClaire, whose pallor was a clear
indication that she had been badly shaken by this outburst. "Come,
my lady. The worst is over."
She shook her head. "I won't be the cause of trouble between you and
your father, Rory."
"He's my father, AnnaClaire. I'll handle him."
"I'll not remain where I'm not wanted. I must leave here."
He fought to keep the anger from his voice. "If you leave, I'll leave as
well."
He saw her look of surprise. Noting her hesitation he pressed his
advantage. "And I was so looking forward to sleeping in my own bed
tonight."
She saw the slight curve of his lips and knew she was being
manipulated. Still, with a sigh, she relented."I suppose I can stay. But
only for the night. On the morrow..."
He touched a finger to her lips to silence her. "We'll speak no more of
this until the morrow."
She nodded. But as she walked beside him toward the library, she
vowed that this would be the last night she would spend under the
same roof as these hateful, volatile O'Neils.
"What brought you to the docks in the first place?" Gavin demanded.
After a few failed attempts at polite conversation, father and son had
settled on something safe. Something they both shared. The love of
battle and the hatred of the enemy.
"I'd heard the rumor that Tilden would be there. For two years I've
always seemed to be just one step behind him. I thought this was my
chance."
"And it turned out to be a trap," Gavin muttered.
"Nay. Tilden was there. But we hadn't counted on the fact that a
boatload of soldiers would be there as well."
"You don't think it was planned?"
Rory shook his head. "I think we caught him by surprise. I believe our
little skirmishes are hurting the English. Tilden has lost so many men
he had to send for reinforcements. I think, too, his queen will soon
demand to know why an entire regiment of trained soldiers can't put a
stop to these annoying Irish peasants."
AnnaClaire studied Rory with new admiration. Hadivt Dunstan said
nearly that same thing at Lady Thornly's? When she saw Gavin
O'Neil studying her, she flushed. Perhaps he thought she was some
sort of spy for the enemy. Needing something to do, she began to
move around the room, while the conversation droned on in the
background.
As soon as she stood, several of the hounds circled her, sniffing her
skirts. But when she scratched their ears and ruffled their fur, they lay
back down, tongues lolling.
Like all the rooms at Ballinarin, the library was massive in size. One
wall housed a collection of books the likes of which AnnaClaire had
never seen outside an abbey. It would seem the O'Neils and their
ancestors were educated.
A blackened stone fireplace dominated another wa
ll. Above the
mantel hung a coat of arms depicting a lion, a stag and an ornate
jeweled crown. It was the same coat of arms Rory wore on his tunic.
It had been on his cloak as well, before Bridget had cut it away to tend
his wounds. The lion, AnnaClaire knew, was the symbol of a warrior.
The stag symbolized a hunter. But the crown puzzled her until she
remembered that Rory had boasted that his family had descended
from the first king of Ireland. No wonder his father was so arrogant,
she mused. His temper would be a match for the English queen he so
despised.
She turned away. A third wall had three arched windows looking out
on a formal garden planted with hedges and conifers, arranged in an
intricate pattern along paved walkways. An inviting, restful view.
The scarred wooden desktop was littered with ledgers, a clear sign
that a great deal of business was conducted here. But there were
several groupings of overstuffed chairs and settles as well, that added
a look of comfort to the room.
To one side of the fireplace stood a small table, with a chair on either
side. AnnaClaire paused beside it.
Covering the entire tabletop was a hand-carved wooden chess set.
She studied the pieces and was jolted when she realized that one set
depicted Irish swordsmen, the other English soldiers.
"It's not been used since Rory went away." Conor's voice beside her
made her jump. He pointed to the two horsemen standing guard
before a queen. "That was the last play our Rory made."
"Does no one else play?" she asked.
"Aye. But Father lost heart when Rory left. He said my brother was
the only one who could ever truly offer him a challenge."
"A pity." She studied the players for a moment, then said, "When
Rory challenges your father again, Gavin will want to move that rook
into position. Else he'll find himself helplessly locked in checkmate."
Hearing her, the O'Neil was across the room in quick strides, studying
the pieces. After several minutes he shook his head. "'Twould be a
foolish move. My opponent would then be free to move this bishop."
AnnaClaire shrugged and noted that the others had stopped talking to
watch and listen. "Suit yourself, Gavin O'Neil. I have no wish to fuel
your temper again this night."
Anger sparked. The cheek of the woman! He turned to his firstborn.
"Come here, Rory. It's time I taught you 'a' lesson or two in the art of
Rory Page 16
