the Blackhearted O'Neil. They say you're the most feared man in all
of Ireland."
"The only ones who need fear me are English soldiers, Innis."
"They'd best fear me as well. For if I come up against them again,
they'll not find a wee lad hiding behind his da's back."
Rory studied this boy, so like himself. Then his look darted to
AnnaClaire.
She looked away quickly, avoiding his eyes. She'd seen the pain. Had
heard it in his voice. "I'd like to go back to Ballinarin now."
"Aye. There's a storm brewing, from the looks of that sky. Here, we
can all ride."
Rory bent and lifted AnnaClaire to the saddle, then handed the boy up
to her. As Rory was pulling himself up behind them,- AnnaClaire felt
the lad shrink from her touch.
As the horse carried them back to Ballinarin, AnnaClaire held herself
stiffly, pondering all that she'd seen and heard. Perhaps, if she could
win over one sad little boy whose soul had been so scarred, there
would be hope for the others at Ballinarin as well.
But perhaps, her heart taunted her, it was too late. The evil deeds of
others had surely turned the hearts of all at Ballinarin against her. And
had sealed forever the fate of two star-crossed lovers.
Chapter Fifteen
The storm broke before they could reach the shelter of the stables.
With the wind whipping fiercely, and rain pelting them, Rory turned
his mount toward the small cljapel just ahead.
"We can take refuge in here." He slid from the saddle and lifted
AnnaClaire and Innis down. Leading them through the downpour he
leaned into the heavy door and forced it open.
Inside, the air was perfumed with the fragrance of oil and beeswax
and incense.
"Here, love." Rory shook the rain from his cloak and wrapped it
around AnnaClaire's shoulders. "I'll build a fire." He crossed to the
fireplace and piled several logs on the grate, where a thin flame
flickered. Then he positioned a plain wooden bench nearby and urged
AnnaClaire and Innis to sit. Soon the little chapel was snug and warm
while the storm raged beyond its walls.
Rory rubbed his hands together. "All we need is some bread and
cheese, a little church wine, and we'd be as comfortable as if we were
home."
"Did someone say wine?" A man's deep melodious voice sounded
from behind the altar.
"Friar Malone." Rory hurried forward to embrace a hunched old
monk in a coarse robe. Though his face was as wrinkled as old
leather, and his hair was a wild thatch of white, his eyes were as dark
and piercing as a blackbird's. And as alert and intense as a child's.
"Ah, Rory, lad. I'd heard you were home." The old priest held him a
little away, noting the lean hardness of his body, the layer of warrior's
muscles. "I offered my mass this morning in thanksgiving for your
safe return."
"Thank you, Friar. I'm grateful."
The priest turned his look on Innis. "I missed you at mass this
morning, lad."
The boy stared down at the floor.
Rory took the old man's arm and led him closer. "Friar Malone, may I
present Lady AnnaClaire Thompson."
"My lady." The old priest took both her hands in his. "I offered my
mass for you, as well, when I'd heard that it was your goodness and
courage that saved our Rory."
"Thank you, Father," she answered.
"And how would you have known about AnnaClaire?" Rory
demanded.
' 'How else?' Friar Malone had a twinkle in his eyes. "Your mother
was here at dawn, requesting a mass of thanksgiving. After we prayed
together, Moira was most eager to tell me all she knew." He turned to
study AnnaClaire. "She told me that your father is Lord James
Thompson."
Though she wasn't aware of it, AnnaClaire's spine stiffened. "Aye.
She told you true."
"The same Lord James Thompson who advises Elizabeth of
England?"
AnnaClaire nodded.
"As I recall he married an Irish lass. Were you allowed to keep your
mother's faith, or were you required to accept the faith of England?'
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse to answer. Instead,
AnnaClaire said, "My father left the choice to me."
"I'd wager my boots that you chose to follow the faith of your mother.
For in your heart you're Irish, AnnaClaire Thompson."
Her tone sharpened. "I'm both Irish and English. And proud of it."
At her quavering tone, Innis lifted his head to study her.
The old priest turned away to hide his smile. "I believe you were
wishing for bread and cheese, Rory. Why don't I fetch some from my
room?"
"That would be grand. And don't forget the wine, Friar Malone."
The old man was already shuffling away. Over his shoulder he called,
"One thing I'd never forget is the wine, for it warms not only the
blood but the soul."
Moments later he returned. Setting a coarse blanket on the floor in
front of the fire, he invited them to sit with him while he broke off
hunks of bread and cheese, and filled goblets with wine.
"Do you live here in the chapel?" AnnaClaire asked.
"Aye. Gavin and Moira graciously offered me a chamber in their
home, but I prefer the simplicity of my life here in the chapel.
'Twould be too easy to forget my vows of poverty and humility if I
were to indulge myself in the good life."
AnnaClaire nodded as she sipped the wine which he'd poured from an
earthen jug. "I've met the men of the church who surround the queen
at Court. It's as you say. They have forgotten the people who live
outside the walls of the castle. Most of them are arrayed in such
splendor, they begin to think of themselves as royalty."
"It shames me that men of the church can so easily forget their vows."
He shook his head before refilling her goblet. "What do you think of
the queen?"
"She is fascinating. Strong. Fiery. When she enters a room, all others
fade from view. I believe Elizabeth was truly born to rule. Even the
men who advise her are cowed by her will."
Friar Malone was watching AnnaClaire's face as she spoke. "There
are those who denounce the monarch as a bully and a tyrant. Yet you
admire her."
"Aye. She is a woman in a man's domain. And yet she is fearless.
How. could I not admire that?'
The old priest broke off another piece of cheese. "Moira told me that
you placed yourself and your household in grave peril by helping our
Rory."
AnnaClaire flushed. "I didn't think of that. At least not often."
"How can you say that?" Rory's voice was dangerously soft as he
turned to Friar Malone. "There was a price on my head. And English
noblemen paying visits at her door. Though the lady may say that she
gave it no thought, she is merely being humble. She knew exactly
what she was doing. And was well aware of the price she might have
to pay for her kindness."
Innis was staring at AnnaClaire with a look of wonder. "Could you
have been killed for helping Rory?"
"Perhaps. But don't look so worried,
Innis. I'm here now. The danger
is over."
"And you weren't afraid?"
"I was often afraid. But I couldn't let the fear keep me from doing
what I knew was right."
"It must have seemed strange for a highborn woman to have a rough
swordsman under her roof," Friar Malone said.
"Not so strange. For I've always admired warriors..." She glanced
over until she met Rory's look, "...both the brave and the foolish."
The priest chuckled as he poured more wine. But Innis, somber and
silent, continued to watch and listen. There was much about this
Englishwoman that was unexpected.'
They lingered over their lunch, enjoying the rich voice of Friar
Malone as he related the history of Ballinarin to AnnaClaire.
"Rory told me that St. Patrick himself baptized his ancestors here.
Can it be true?" she asked.
"Oh, indeed. The family can trace its origins to Irish kings." He
winked. "And a few scoundrels."
"Ah." She smiled. "So, Rory O'Neil, the blood of scoundrels flows
through your veins as well as the royalty of which you boast."
Beside her the boy almost giggled before he caught himself.
"Aye. And I'll warn you that not all of my forebears were gentlemen.
So you'd best watch your tongue, woman."
"And you'd best watch your back." She drained her goblet, feeling
warm and content. "Else the same woman who saved your life may
see that you forfeit it." She heard a snort from the lad beside her, who
was clearly enjoying this teasing banter.
Still laughing Rory looked up. "I think the storm has blown over." He
crossed to the door and looked out, then returned to help the old priest
to his feet.
"I'll help you clean up, Father," AnnaClaire offered.
"Nay, my dear. You go along with Rory." He caught her hands and
gave her another long look before his face creased into a warm smile.
"I've enjoyed this time together."
"As have I."
"And Innis," he called as the three began to take their leave, "I hope
I'll see you at morning mass."
The boy ducked his head.
The old priest watched as Rory lifted AnnaClaire and Innis to the
saddle, then pulled himself up behind them.
When they waved, he lifted a hand and called, "Go with God's
blessings, my children."
He continued standing until they were out of sight, then turned with a
sigh. Moira had been right. The two were clearly in love. But unlike
Rory's worried mother, he felt a sense of peace at the knowledge.
Rory O'Neil had been a man shattered by brutality, and driven by a
hunger for vengeance. Perhaps now, with a gentlewoman like
AnnaClaire, the healing could begin.
As he began clearing up the remains of their picnic, he remained deep
in thought. What was more fasci- nating*was the reaction of young
Innis to this stranger. The lad wanted to hate her for being English.
But somehow she had touched a chord in him. It would be interesting
to see how their relationship progressed.
* * *
Rory helped AnnaClaire and Innis from the back of the horse, then
turned the animal over to a stable lad. As they crossed the courtyard
and entered the house they were greeted by Velia.
"Your da and mum are waiting for you in the library with Conor," she
said.
"Thank you, Velia."
As they climbed the stairs AnnaClaire clapped a hand to her mouth.
"Oh dear. The chess game. I'd forgotten all about it."
When they entered the library, Briana and Conor and their parents
were seated before the fire, their heads bent in earnest conversation.
As soon as they spotted Rory their heads came up sharply.
"Forgive me." AnnaClaire hurried across the room. "I truly forgot
about the chess game. We were caught in a storm and..." Seeing the
look on their faces she stopped, swallowed. "You're angry, Gavin
O'Neil."
"Aye. Nay." He stood and caught her hand before she could swing
away. "Not with you, lass. 'Tis something else. Rory." He glanced at
his son, then at the little boy who stood just behind him. "We must
talk. Alone."
AnnaClaire looked from one to the other. "If this is about me, I have
the right to hear."
Gavin looked to his son, who nodded. He sighed in defeat. "Conor
and I rode to the village this morrow. And we heard some unsettling
news."
Rory's eyes narrowed. "Is this about English soldiers?"
Gavin nodded. "They're combing the countryside, searching for you
and the lass."Rory made a sound of disgust. "And I've brought them
to our doorstep."
Gavin touched his arm. "You had no choice, my son. There was
nowhere left to go."
Rory shook off his touch and began to pace. "There were plenty of
other places. But I had this foolish notion about coming home."
His mother got to her feet. "Foolish? Is that what you think? I'll
remind you that this is where you belong, Rory."
"Aye." His father nodded agreement. "Besides, you're safe here.
Ballinarin is a natural fortress. They'd dare not storm it."
Rory ran a hand through his hair. "Father, I have James Thompson's
daughter. Do you really believe they'll leave without her?"
"If they try to take her," Conor joined in, "they're fools, for many will
forfeit their lives."
Rory nodded. "Some. But not all. They'll send for more soldiers, and
more, until they get what they want."
AnnaClaire studied the worried faces of Rory and his family. "Then
why not give them what they want?"
Her words had. them all staring at her in disbelief.
Moira started toward her. "Do you know what you're saying, lass?"
"Aye." AnnaClaire held up a hand to stop her. "I'll..." She thought a
moment, her mind racing. "I'll tell them I escaped from your son's
clutches. That I slipped away without anyone knowing. They'll be so
relieved to have me safe, they'll forget about Rory."
Moira saw the look in AnnaClaire's eyes and felt her heart sink. It was
as she'd suspected. This woman would do it. Because she was a
woman in love. But there was more than one involved in this love
match.
Rory's voice, low and deep with feeling, cut through his mother's
thoughts. "Even if they should have you safe and sound, they'll never
forget about the Blackhearted O'Neil. One Irish peasant has managed
to beat them at their own game. I've humiliated them. Made them
look like fools before their own countrymen. Before their queen.
They'll hunt me until they run me to ground. And even then they
won't be satisfied until my head is on a stake outside the Tower of
London."
AnnaClaire clutched her arms about herself, her eyes filled with
anguish. "Don't say that, Rory."
"Why not? 'Tis the truth." He crossed the room and gave her
shoulders a hard shake. "So think about this, AnnaClaire. If you
should offer to give yourself up to save me, it will be a noble gesture,
but all for naught. For it isn't only you they want. It's me. Do you
understand?"
Seeing the way her eyes filled, the others
looked away in
uncomfortable silence. It was as they had all feared. These two had
forged a bond which, when broken, would shatter them both.
When a servant announced that their meal was ready to serve, Moira
looked from Rory to AnnaClaire. "We'll speak no more of this
tonight. For at least one more night we will gather as a family, to eat,
to talk, to laugh." To pray, she thought fiercely, as she placed her
hand on her husband's arm and followed the others to the dining hall.
"Your nightshift, my lady." Velia, sensing the family's tension
throughout the evening, hovered over AnnaClaire as she prepared for
bed.
"Thank you." She slipped the sheer garment over her head, smoothed
the skirt. "You may go now, Velia."
"But your hair, my lady. I'll brush it loose before you retire."
With a sigh AnnaClaire relented, sitting before the looking glass,
watching as the little maid painstakingly smoothed every tangle.
"There now, my lady." Velia set aside the brush and crossed the room
to turn down the covers. "I hope your dreams will all be as sweet as
those of the angels."
"Thank you, Velia." AnnaClaire kept her smile in place. "Good
night."
As soon as the door closed behind her, AnnaClaire stripped off the
nightgown and slipped into her own gown, which had been carefully
cleaned and mended.
She'd had plenty of time to think about what she planned. This night,
while the household slept, she would slip away and ride to the village.
She was certain she could persuade the soldiers that she had escaped
from Rory, and that they had a duty to take her home immediately.
After all, she was the daughter of Lord James Thompson. They would
dare not defy her. Especially if she invoked the queen's name.
She would have to be a good enough liar to persuade the soldiers to be
satisfied with her safe return, and to give up their search for Rory. If,
however, they were determined to return for him, at least she would
have bought enough time for the people of Ballinarin and the
surrounding villages to prepare a defense.
Just as she picked up her cloak, she heard footsteps outside her door.
With a little cry she flew across the room and jumped into bed,
tugging the covers to her chin.
Rory opened the door, then closed it quickly and leaned against it.
The way he stood looking at her made her throat go dry. Could he see
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