Then, suddenly wide awake, she looked around in dismay, afraid that
Rory was still asleep beside her. Seeing the bed empty, she gave a
sigh of relief. She could vaguely recall his whispered words in the
early hours of morning. She touched a finger to her cheek where he
placed a gentle kiss as he'd left her. But somehow she had drifted
back to sleep, with a promise to write her father that she was safe and
well.
As the little maid began to edge from the room, shooing the dogs as
she went, AnnaClaire called out, "No, Velia. Please stay."
"You're certain, my lady?"
"Aye. I can't recall when I've ever slept so soundly."
"And so you should. From what I've heard, you endured a long and
perilous journey, my lady. All the household is abuzz about your
courage."
As the little maid opened the draperies, AnnaClaire could see that the
sun was already high in the sky.
"I was given orders that you were not to be disturbed." Velia moved
around the room, filling a basin with water, laying out an assortment
of fresh clothes.
"That was kind of your mistress." AnnaClaire climbed from bed and
scratched each hound's ears before crossing to the basin.
"'Twas not the mistress of the house who gave the order. 'Twas Rory
O'Neil himself. He forbade anyone from coming near you."
AnnaClaire busied herself at the basin to hide the color she knew was
on her cheeks. She would speak to her bold lover about this later. For
now she must prepare herself to leave. "Is everyone below stairs?"
"Aye, my lady." When AnnaClaire finished washing, the servant
helped her into a chemise and petticoat, then held up a gown the color
of the sky. "Does this meet with your approval?"
"It's lovely. But I had hoped to wear my own gown and cloak,
especially since I'll be leaving today."
"As you wish, my lady." The little maid appeared distressed. "Your
garments were badly soiled. But I'll have them brought to your room
as soon as I have them in good repair."
AnnaClaire slipped on her kid boots and studied her reflection in the
looking glass as the little maid dressed her hair. Then she hurried
down the stairs, in search of Rory.
The sound of voices led her to the dining hall. When she entered,
those around the table looked up in sudden silence. It seemed clear
that they had been discussing her. And, she thought, probably
wondering how soon they would be rid of her.
"Ah, AnnaClaire. Good morrow." It was Conor, ever the gallant one,
who crossed the room and took her hand to lead her smoothly toward
his family.
"Good morrow, Conor." She bowed a greeting to the others, who
responded with cool nods.
"Rory had thought you'd stay abed for hours." He held a chair, and
she had no choice but to take her place to one side of a scowling
Gavin.
She accepted a goblet of hot mulled wine and sipped before asking,
"Where is Rory?"
Gavin and Moira exchanged glances. It was Moira who said, "Rory
needed to ride. There are...places he wanted to visit. He's been away a
long time."
A servant paused beside AnnaClaire, offering a tray of steamed fish
and mutton. She refused, accepting instead a slice of bread, still warm
from the oven.
When the servant walked away she said, "I've instructed Velia to have
my gown and traveling cloak ready. I can leave as soon as Rory
returns."
"You can't leave yet, Englishwoman." The temper was still in Gavin's
tone. "You owe me a chance to redeem myself at the chess table."
She kept her tone deliberately cool, refusing to give an inch. "That
shouldn't take long, Gavin O'Neil. I can beat you at chess and still be
on my way in an hour or less."The nerve of the woman. He pushed
away from the table and shot her a steely look. "Unfortunately I must
ride to the village first. Then we shall see who wins and who loses."
AnnaClaire nodded. "Very well." What little appetite she'd had was
now gone. Where was Rory? Why had he left her alone at such a
time? He had to know how awkward this was. All his lovely promises
made under the cover of darkness had been snatched away by the
light of day.
Seeing her restlessness Moira said, "Perhaps you would be more
comfortable in the gardens."
"Aye. Thank you." AnnaClaire got to her feet, grateful for the chance
to escape.
"Come, Briana," her mother called. "You will accompany us."
As AnnaClaire followed them outside, the ever present hounds
trailed, circling her legs.
"Oh." AnnaClaire's earlier frustration was forgotten as she stepped
through the doorway. "This is lovely."
The gardens were in the manner of the formal English gardens, with
carefully planted hedges, curving stone walkways, and comfortable
stone benches set here and there among the plantings.
"It will be glorious when the summer sun has had a chance to work its
magic on the blooms."
"Even without the flowers, there's a feeling of peace and beauty
here," said AnnaClaire.
Moira's quick smile was so much like Rory's, AnnaClaire felt a little
jolt around her heart. "Aye. The first time I came here, as a young
bride, I felt it."
"How old were you?" AnnaClaire asked as she lifted her face to the
thin sunshine.
"Ten and five."
AnnaClaire turned to study her. "So young."
"Aye." Moira shook her head. "No older than Briana is now. It's hard
to believe I could know my own mind at such a tender age. But the
moment I saw Gavin O'Neil I knew he was the man I wanted."
Despite his stern countenance, AnnaClaire could see why a young
woman would lose her heart to such a bold, proud warrior. Hadn't his
son touched her own heart in much the same way? "Did your father
have nothing to say about it?"
"Oh, indeed he did. And none of it good."
"Why?"
Moira indicated a bench in the sunlight, and the three women sat.
"Gavin O'Neil had a reputation as a fierce warrior. Such men often
leave young widows behind. My father was determined that his only
child would wed a man who would give her both a peaceful life and a
comfortable one. He refused to accept Gavin's request for my hand.
When Gavin pressed, my father said there would be no dowry, and
thus, no wedding."
AnnaClaire arched a brow. "It's obvious that your father gave in. How
did Gavin convince him?"
"Gavin didn't convince him. I did." Moira held her hands to her
cheeks, surprised that even after all these years, the telling of the tale
could make her blush. "I tried begging, pleading. Then I did the only
thing I could. I sent a message to Gavin asking him to come for me,
and signed my father's name to the missive. When Gavin showed up
to claim his bride and her dowry, I was waiting by the river's edge,
with nothing but the clothes on my back. I told him that the only way
he could have me was to take me as I was." She gave an embarrassed
laugh. "As you can see, he did."
/> "Were you forced to sever all ties with your father?"
Moira smiled. "I'd expected to. But blood is deep. When he learned
that I had given birth to his first grandson, he sent word that he
wished to visit. He made his peace with my choice, and in time, he
and Gavin became fast friends. Until his death there were many
joyful visits between us."
The older woman looked up when she saw the cook heading toward
them. "I must speak with Fiola. Briana will keep you company in the
garden, since you seem more comfortable here than in the keep."
"Thank you." When she was gone, AnnaClaire glanced at the
scowling young woman beside her and realized that Briana was here
against her wishes. Hoping to put her at ease she said,' 'Your home is
as lovely as Rory had said."
"He told you about Ballinarin?"
"Aye. And always there was such love in his voice when he spoke of
it. It was the same when he spoke of all of you."
"Then you have us at a disadvantage, Englishwoman. For we knew
nothing about you. Oh, why did you have to come here and turn our
world upside down?"
AnnaClaire touched a hand to the young woman's sleeve. "I know
you're distressed, Briana. But it's just as distressing for me. This was
not my choice. Nor, I think, was it Rory's. Circumstances forced him
to bring me here."
The young woman pulled away as though the mere touch of her
burned. ' 'I wish my brother had never met you. I wish things could be
as they were, before the slaughter began, before Rory had to go away.
I don't want you here. You're a millstone around Rory's neck."
With that she lifted her skirts in a most unladylike fashion and ran
back to the keep.
With a sigh AnnaClaire stood and shook down her skirts, wishing she
could escape as easily as Briana had. Feeling restless and edgy, she
began to follow the winding walkway which was bordered on either
side with thick hedges. Beyond the hedges she could hear the sound
of a voice, speaking in low tones. Puzzled, she continued on until she
came to a break in the hedge. The voice was louder here. She peered
around and saw Innis. But this was unlike the shy lad she had seen
yesterday. He was speaking as fiercely as the O'Neil, gesturing
wildly.
Hoping to find Rory with him, AnnaClaire stepped through the
opening and found herself in a circular courtyard, with benches all
around, and a fountain in the middle. The carved figures at the base of
the fountain depicted a mother holding a child. In the child's hands
was a bouquet of flowers, which he was offering to his mother. There
were identical looks of love on the faces of both mother and son.
When AnnaClaire looked more closely, she realized that Innis was
alone. And speaking to the statue.
"She's English," he was saying. "Bloody, hateful English. I must
never forget that, though she looks just like you. When I first saw her
I thought it was my mother come back from the grave. But now I
know she can never be..."
At a slight sound behind him he whirled and caught sight of
AnnaClaire. His words died. His eyes flashed with a fire that
reminded her of a soldier in the heat of battle."I'm sorry I startled
you." AnnaClaire stood very still. Aware of the boy's tension, she
looked over his head and pretended to study the fountain, to give him
time to compose himself. "She's very beautiful."
He held his silence.
"If I lived here, I would want to visit this place often. It's soothing to
the spirit." She glanced at the statue, then at Innis. "Does it remind
you of your mother?"
He looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.
Her voice lowered with feeling. "I lost my mother two months ago. I
don't know if the ache will ever leave my heart. Sometimes I find
myself weeping for no reason at all."
His voice was tight, angry. "The O'Neil says it isn't right to cry."
It was the first time he'd spoken to her. Though she could hear the
anger in his tone, she felt a quickening of her heartbeat. It was a crack
in the wall of hatred he'd built.
She chose her words carefully. "The O'Neil isn't God almighty. I'll
wager he's been wrong a time or two."
For a moment he merely stared at her, too stunned to respond. Then,
with a look that might have carried just a hint of a smile, he turned
away. In almost a whisper he asked, "Are you looking for Rory?"
"Aye. Do you know where he went?"
Instead of responding, he merely turned away. With a glance over his
shoulder to see that she was following, he led her through the garden,
across the sloping lawns, past the small chapel, and out onto the old
bog road.
As they walked AnnaClaire drank in the beauty of this wild, primitive
place. The sides of hills were dotted with stunted, twisted shrubs and
trees. The sky above was a harsh gray-green, the swirl of clouds
threatening rain. The wind blew, sharp and chill, whipping the ends
of her skirt, flattening it against her legs.
They continued walking, following the bend in the road, until Innis
came to a sudden halt.
The land looked no different from the surrounding countryside. Yet
AnnaClaire felt a shiver course along her spine. No sheep grazed
here. No crops had been planted. A single bird circled overhead,
calling to its mate. Its lonely cry seemed to echo in the stillness.
Up ahead she could see a horse standing very still, bridle dangling. At
first she thought its rider may have fallen. But when she looked more
closely she could see Rory kneeling on the ground, his face buried in
his hands.
AnnaClaire pressed a hand to her mouth as the realization dawned.
Dear heaven. This was the place where his Caitlin and her family had
been slaughtered. She felt a thrust of pain, sharp and deep, around her
heart. Jealousy? For a dead woman? She struggled to deny it. But the
truth was, it hurt to realize that Rory was grieving for a lost love. Still,
she consoled herself, had it not been for the massacre that had
occurred here, she would never have met him. Would never have lost
her heart to this wild Irish warrior.
"Have you come here since...?" She couldn't bring herself to speak of
the slaughter of this lad's entire family.
Innis ran a hand over a rough stone, standing like a lone sentinel in
the field. "I come here every day."
"Every day? But why?"
"To remember." His big eyes looked sad. And old. And haunted.
AnnaClaire shivered. "I should think you'd rather forget."
"Forget?" He whirled on her, anger blazing in his eyes. "I'll never
forget." His brow drew together in a small frown. "I must remember.
So that I can see it never happens again."
"And how can one small boy accomplish that?"
"Do you see this?" He revealed a small dagger hidden at his waist.
"Each day since Rory left, I've come here to learn, to practice until it's
now second nature. With this, I could cut the heart from a bird in
flight."
As he took aim at the lone bird overhead, AnnaClaire clos
ed a hand
over his wrist. "Nay, Innis. I couldn't bear to see a bird killed."
"Liar." He jerked free of her touch. "Unhand me, Englishwoman. If I
had to, I could even cut out your heart." With fierce concentration he
tossed the knife. He turned at the last second so that instead of the
bird, he tossed the knife at a leaf, trembling on a high, barren branch.
The dagger pierced the leaf and brought it tumbling to the ground.
AnnaClaire was shocked at the violence in the lad. Though he had
grudgingly avoided killing the bird, she had the distinct impression
that he would have preferred io aim his weapon at her heart.
As he retrieved his dagger and returned it to his hiding place beneath
his waist he muttered, "When I'm big enough, I shall join Rory O'Neil
on his quest for vengeance. And together we'll rid this land of all
English."
"Oh, Innis." She felt her heart contract at the venom in his tone. "I
pray that day never comes." With tears stinging her eyes she turned
away. "Now I must leave this place at once." She began stumbling
over the rough terrain.
He moved easily by her side. "Why do you flee, Englishwoman? Are
you afraid to see what your countrymen have done?"
"I have no right to be here. I'm..." The enemy. The words were burned
into her mind. She clamped her mouth tightly shut and began to run.
They both looked up at the pounding of hoofbeats.
"AnnaClaire." Rory brought his horse to a halt. His eyes were raw
and gritty. The heaviness in his heart made his voice rougher than he
intended. "What are you doing out here?"
"I asked Innis to show me..." She groped for words. "... this place. He
comes here every day."
Rory swiveled his head. "Do you, lad?"
Innis stared boldly at the warrior whose name was spoken with such
reverence, he was almost a god. The boy could still see, in his mind's
eye, the savage look on Rory's face when he'd first come upon the
scene of the massacre. At night the lad was often awakened by the
sound of his own cry, echoing the heart-wrenching sound that had
broken from Rory's lips when he'd found his beloved Caitlin. But if
Innis wept in sleep, by day he could only mimic the man whose eyes
had been dry and dead and lifeless by the time he'd stood over the
graves and vowed revenge.
"Can you speak, lad?" Rory slid from the saddle and knelt beside him.
"Are you afraid of me, Innis?"
The boy met his look. "Nay. I do not fear you. Though some call you
Rory Page 18
