Rory

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  strategy."

  "Perhaps it's you who'll need the lesson, Father." Rory's mouth

  twitched in amusement.

  The two men took their seats, while the others stood in a Circle

  watching. Both men studied the pieces.

  Rory looked across the table. "I believe the first move is yours,

  Father."

  "Aye." Gavin glanced up at AnnaClaire, thought about what she'd

  said, then dismissed it and moved another rook instead.

  Rory glanced at his father in astonishment. "Are you certain this is

  what you want to do?"

  "I am."

  Rory moved his chess pieces and said, "You should have listened to

  the lady, Father. I have you in checkmate."

  Gavin's eyes grew stormy, and for a moment AnnaClaire thought

  there would be another outburst. He fixed her with a steely look.

  "You did that on purpose, didn't you. Englishwoman?"

  "Did what?" She could feel her cheeks growing warm as the others

  turned to stare at her.

  "Offered advice, knowing I'd be quick to reject it, since it came from

  the likes of you."

  She shrugged. "I intended nothing of the kind. But if you wish to

  think so, I have no way of changing your mind."

  "There may be a way."

  She met his look.

  "Do you think you could beat me, AnnaClaire Thompson?"

  "I've been playing chess with my father since I was a child. And

  routinely beating him."

  "Ha. But he is a bloody Englishman. I challenge you to a game of

  chess with a wily Irishman."

  AnnaClaire glanced around at the others, who looked as surprised as

  she felt.

  "But, Father." Briana's eyes were wide. "You've always refused to

  teach me the rudiments of the game, because you said it's a strategy

  only men can understand."

  "Aye. A game of war. A game of wiles and wit. Thefemale mind

  simply cannot comprehend such things. Well, my lady? Are you

  afraid I'll humiliate you?"

  As he'd suspected, she couldn't possibly refuse his taunt. "I accept

  your challenge, Gavin O'Neil."

  "Let's get started then."

  Moira touched a hand to her husband's shoulder. "Gavin, the lass

  must be growing weary. Think of the difficult journey she has

  undertaken in the last few days."

  "She can sleep as long as she pleases. As soon as the game is over."

  Before Moira could protest further, Conor draped an arm around his

  mother's shoulder and led her toward the settle. "Come. We'll warm

  ourselves with some ale and listen to Rory's tales of adventure."

  For the next hour or more Rory made a half-hearted effort to oblige.

  But he found himself distracted by the image of AnnaClaire facing

  his father across the chess board. Did she have any idea what she'd

  gotten herself into? To his father, this was no game. It was war, about

  which Gavin O'Neil felt passionately. By the time it was over, lovely

  AnnaClaire would no doubt be reduced to tears.

  "I've backed you into a corner, Englishwoman." Gavin's eyes danced

  with delight. They had begun at a slow, leisurely pace as each player

  tried to surmise the strategy of the other.

  He'd been surprised by the lady's quick mind. She'd very cleverly

  determined where he was going, and effectively blocked every move.

  But now she was about to face defeat.

  "Aye. That you have." She studied the options left open, then gave

  him a slow smile. "So I'll just have to say....checkmate, Gavin

  O'Neil."

  "That's impossible. I thought out every move. By all that is holy..."

  His voice exploded, bringing everyone out of their chairs to hurry

  over.

  Rory and Conor were studying the chess pieces, while Moira was

  staring at her husband, trying to gauge the depth of his anger. She

  didn't want another outburst like the one they'd witnessed in the

  dining hall.

  Behind her, young Innis hung back, as he'd done all evening, and kept

  his gaze fixed on the floor. The arrival of Rory O'Neil and this strange

  woman had added to his agitation. And the news that she was English

  had sent him into some dark place in his mind.

  Briana clung to Rory, as she had all evening, needing desperately to

  assure herself that her adored brother was really here with her. But it

  was AnnaClaire who had captured her attention. All her young life

  Briana had heard about the cruelty of the English. Yet this female was

  far from cruel. AnnaClaire Thompson was unlike any young woman

  she had ever known. She'd actually risked her life to save a stranger.

  She had traveled clear across Ireland, facing unknown perils. And she

  sat here calmly playing a confusing game of strategy with a man who

  considered her his enemy.

  Though she knew it was treason to entertain a kind thought about the

  English, she was almost sorry AnnaClaire would have to take her

  leave on the morrow. Briana found her fascinating.

  "I do believe you've lost, Father." Conor's tone was incredulous.

  "The woman is a sorceress." Gavin downed a tumbler of whiskey,

  then studied the pieces again, looking for a way out.

  "Face it, Father. She's bested you."

  The older man shook his head. "It isn't possible."

  Moira patted his shoulder. "It's time we all took our rest, Gavin. After

  all, 'tis only a game."

  "A game?" His eyes narrowed. "This is no mere game. And I've never

  met a woman whose mind could grasp the strategy of war."

  "You've met one now." Rory set his tumbler down and caught

  AnnaClaire's hand. "Well done, my lady." With a bow, he brushed his

  lips over her knuckles. "Now, whether you like it or not, Father,

  AnnaClaire has earned a well-deserved rest."

  "Rest is it?" Gavin stared at the chess pieces, then at the woman

  who'd beat him. "Aye. We'll all rest. But on the morrow, after we

  break our fast, we'll match wits again."

  Before anyone could stop her, Briana blurted, "But Father, you

  ordered the Englishwoman to leave on the morrow."

  "I did indeed." To hide his discomfort Gavin broke the silence with a

  roar. "No bloody Englishwoman will leave Ballinarin until I have the

  chance to redeem myself." He stared hard at AnnaClaire. "Is that

  clear?"

  She gave a slight nod of her head. "Quite clear, Gavin O'Neil. I'll give

  you that chance on the morrow, before I take my leave of this place.

  Now I bid you all good' night." She walked out of the library beside

  Rory.

  When she was gone, Gavin glanced at his family. "Well? What are

  you looking at? I think it's high time we ail took our rest."

  "Aye. Good night, Father." Conor kissed his mother's cheek, then

  herded Briana and Innis out the door, with the hounds following.

  Alone by the fire, Moira studied her husband for long, silent

  moments. "You like her, don't you?"

  "Like her? How can I possibly like her? She's bloody English."

  "Aye, though she has some Irish blood in her." She peered at him

  from beneath her lashes. "And you like her."

  "I don't like defeat." He took her hand and led her from the room.

  As they climbed the stairs she whispered, "Admit it, Gavin."
/>
  He shot her a sideways glance. "I admit nothing."

  Moira sighed. Gavin O'Neil had always been an obstinate man. But it

  was one of those things she'd always managed to overlook. He was,

  after all, the love of her life.

  But in this instance, she had to admit that her husband was right to

  order the young woman to leave. AnnaClaire Thompson might have

  won the heart of their son, but she was still the enemy. And they had

  no way of knowing if this Englishwoman truly returned their son's

  affection, or if she was using him for some sinister purpose.

  Perhaps she was part of a plot to bring the English soldiers into the

  O'Neil stronghold. If so, she would soon learn that the O'Neils would

  do whatever it took to keep their loved ones safe from all harm.

  Especially here in their own home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Oh, my lady." As AnnaClaire stepped into her bedchamber, Velia,

  the little servant, sprang up from the chaise where she'd fallen asleep.

  "Forgive me."

  "It's quite all right, Velia. I'm sure you've put in a very long day."

  "Aye, my lady." The girl shoved stiff, corkscrew curls from her eyes.

  ' I was up before dawn so I could go down to the village and see..."

  She bit her lip, wondering how much to reveal. Her voice lowered.

  "There's a farmer, you see. Titus O'Malley. I bake him bread and

  biscuits and bring them to him before he leaves for the fields."

  "A farmer? Is he courting you?"

  Velia nodded.

  AnnaClaire studied her with surprise. "But you're so young."

  "Not so young. I'm ten and three. And long for a family of my own.

  Sometimes, when my chores are finished, I go into town and help my

  sister with her young one. She has a wee babe, and needs a bit of help

  now and then."

  "The O'Neils don't mind that you leave?"

  "Nay. They encourage it. They know how much my sister means to

  me, now that she's the only family I have left." She blushed. "Well,

  my sister and Titus."

  "What happened to the rest of your family?"

  "My parents and younger brother were killed."

  "I'm sorry, Velia. How did it happen?"

  ' 'They were taking some sheep to market across the river, and were

  attacked by English soldiers..." The minute the words tumbled out of

  her mouth the little servant looked away. By now she had heard, as

  had all the household, the truth of AnnaClaire's parentage. The

  O'Neils' furious response to such news had been repeated by all the

  servants. "Forgive me, my lady. I've been known to trip over my own

  tongue."

  "You have nothing to apologize for, Velia."

  "Oh, but I do. No matter what, you are a guest at Ballinarm Here, let

  me help you." She hurried forward, eager to make amends.

  "'Twouldn't do for you to feel neglected. Especially now that himself

  gave you a wee taste of his temper."

  "A wee taste?" AnnaClaire couldn't help laughing. The sound of it

  eased the tension in the little servant.

  "Aye, my lady. You wouldn't wish to feel the full force of the O'Neil's

  temper." At the thought of it, even Velia's freckles seemed to shiver.

  "For 'tis fierce indeed. Like a great storm blowing in from the sea. All

  who know him fear the O'Neil. Now, let's get you out of that dress."

  AnnaClaire carefully removed her borrowed gown and slipped on the

  nightshift Velia offered her. "Have all the O'Neils inherited their

  father's temper?"

  "I'd say Rory and his sister are the most like the O'Neil. Not that

  Conor doesn't have a temper, but, like his mother, he's learned to

  subdue it."

  "Rory told me that Conor prefers talking to fighting."

  "Oh, aye." Velia broke into a sunny smile as she led AnnaClaire

  across the room to an ornate dressing table. "A silver tongue that one

  has. I think his mother wishes he would use his gift to spread the

  faith."

  "A man of the church? Do you think he will consider it?"

  "So far Conor's been busy using his gift to charm the maidens."

  In the mirror AnnaClaire could see the little spots of color on the girl's

  cheeks. It would seem that despite her courtship by a young farmer,

  she was not immune to Conor O'Neil's charms.

  Velia removed the combs from her hair and ran a brush through the

  tangles. "Not that Rory O'Neil hasn't always made the maidens' hearts

  flutter as well. But everyone knew he had eyes only for his Caitlin."

  AnnaClaire felt a quick jolt around her heart. "Did you know her,

  Velia?"

  "Oh, aye. And all her family. It doesn't seem possible even now that

  all are gone. Except Innis, poor lad."

  "Tell me about Innis."

  She lowered her voice. "He's very bitter. He never smiles. Hardly

  even speaks. And never about...that day."

  The two young women fell silent, each lost in thought.

  Finally, to banish the sadness, AnnaClaire glanced down at the filmy

  nightshift, edged with lace at the hem and sleeves. "It was so kind of

  Briana to offer me the use of these beautiful clothes."

  "She's a lovely, generous girl." Velia set aside the brush. "Besides,

  she cares nothing for such things."

  "What does she care about?"

  "Swords. Horses. Anything that Rory likes. He's always been the one

  she looked up to. It near broke her heart when he left. She was like a

  bird without wings. And now, oh, the look on her face when she

  realized her hero was truly home."

  AnnaClaire nodded, remembering. Briana's tears of happiness.had

  stained her cheeks all the day long.

  The little maid turned down the bed and drew the heavy draperies at

  the windows. Then, adding a log to the fire, she said, "I'll bid you

  good night now, my lady, and leave you with my family's blessing.

  May the angels bless your dreams until the morrow."

  "Thank you, Velia." AnnaClaire was touched by her gentle words.

  "Where will you sleep?"

  "I've a room here at Ballinarin. I've been assured it is my home, for as

  long as I choose. And for that I'll be forever indebted to the O'Neils."

  AnnaClaire settled herself on the edge of the bed and watched as the

  maid took her leave. For a moment she stared at the flickering flames

  of the fire and thought about all Velia had told her. No wonder Gavin

  O'Neil had reacted so violently at the mention of her father's name.

  She regretted the fact that English soldiers were the cause of so much

  pain and suffering for these good people. Still, it was unfair to blame

  one man. If only they knew her father as she knew him.

  She thought again about Gavin O'Neil's outburst. It was difficult to

  reconcile that man with the one who had opened his home to the

  orphans, Velia and Innis. It would seem that despite his famous

  temper he was a kind and generous man as well. It seemed a shame

  that men of different nations, different loyalties, could not know each

  other as their families and friends knew them.

  She shook her head, weary at being torn apart by all this.

  With a sigh she sank into the softness of down. But just as her eyes

  closed, she heard the opening of a door. She looked up, and saw Rory,
r />   barefoot and shirtless, striding across the room.

  "I thought she'd never leave."

  "Who?" She sat up, unmindful of the blankets that slipped away,

  revealing the sheer garment.

  But Rory took notice and felt his throat go dry at the sight of her.

  "Your long-suffering maid."

  She was shocked. "You were listening at my door?"

  "Aye." He gave that dangerous smile she'd come to know so well.

  "How else would I know when you were alone?"

  As he began stripping away the last of his clothes she whispered

  fiercely, "Rory you musn't be here."

  "And why not?" He lifted the blanket and slipped into bed beside her.

  "Because this is your parents' home. It isn't right."

  "Tell me this isn't right." He cupped the back of her head and kissed

  her, long and slow and deep.

  It was impossible to think, or to resist. She clung to him, returning the

  kiss.

  Then, coming up for air, she pushed him away a little. "You know

  what I mean. The servants will talk. Your parents will know. The

  entire household will know by morning that you shared my bed."

  "Aye. If they don't already know, they must be blind." He combed his

  fingers through her hair and began nibbling her chin, the corner of her

  mouth.

  She could feel the heat, the need, beginning to build deep inside.

  "I've missed you, AnnaClaire. All day, all evening, all I thought about

  was you. About this." He drew her down into his arms and kissed her

  again until they were both breathless. "Tell the truth. Haven't you

  thought about me, as well?"

  "Umm." She nodded, too overcome for words.

  "Just think." He ran soft kisses over her nose, her cheek, her eyelid.

  "No matter how long the day seemed, we have the whole night now to

  ourselves."

  "Oh, if only it could always be so."

  "It will be, love. I promise."

  With exquisite tenderness he took her on a long slow journey of love.

  "Good morrow, my lady." Using her hip to open the door Velia

  backed into the room carrying a pitcher of water and an armload of

  fresh linens. Several of the hounds bounded into the room behind her.

  When she turned, she realized her mistake. "Oh, forgive me, I thought

  surely you were awake by now."

  At her words AnnaClaire forced herself upward from sleep like one

  who'd been drugged. For a moment she couldn't recall where she was.