Rory

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  address Your Majesty and to have his brother brought before this

  court."

  There was a loud murmur among the onlookers, and AnnaClaire

  could overhear enough of the words to know that the people were

  angry and outraged that the brother of such an infamous outlaw

  would dare to approach the queen.

  When Rory was brought before them in shackles, the crowd erupted

  in shouting and cursing. Many of the women, seeing his bruised and

  battered face, had to hold handkerchiefs to their noses to keep from

  fainting.

  Tilden, standing behind the queen, scowled as his hand tightened on

  the hilt of his sword.

  AnnaClaire blinked furiously to keep from weeping. She would not

  disgrace herself by giving in to tears. But her heart ached at the sight

  of the man she loved shackled like a common criminal.

  Rory stared around the room until his gaze settled on AnnaClaire. A

  hint of a smile touched his lips. Seeing it, Dunstan placed an arm

  around her shoulder and drew her close to whisper in her ear. Though

  she tried to draw away, he held her firmly, then turned to Rory with a

  knowing smile. He was pleased to see Rory's hands clench into fists

  at his sides.

  "It appears," Dunstan whispered, "the Blackhearted O'Neil has been

  shorn of his power, my lady. He'll not lay a hand on you again."

  AnnaClaire, pale and shaken, pushed away. But it was too late. Rory

  had already turned his head, refusing to look her way again.

  Elizabeth could hardly bring herself to look at the prisoner. "It is

  obvious that this man has been tortured."

  Tilden took a step out of the circle. ' 'With your permission, Majesty,

  I can explain."

  She waved a hand imperiously. "You have my permission to speak."

  "This prisoner, the Blackhearted O'Neil was, like many of the Irish

  peasants, so belligerent, so dangerous, so thick-headed—" He

  glanced at the crowd of. nobles and saw many of them nodding in

  agreement "—that the only way to subdue him was to beat him

  senseless. My men and I were loath to inflict such punishment, but he

  gave us no choice."

  "I ..understand." Elizabeth waved him aside. "It is the price one must

  pay for protecting queen and country." She glanced around. "Who

  speaks for the prisoner?"

  "Majesty." Conor stepped forward and bowed before the woman on

  the throne.

  Elizabeth turned away from the bloodied prisoner, finding the sight of

  him too much for her delicate sensibilities. Instead, she watched

  Conor closely, as did every other man and woman in the room. There

  was a grace about him, a charm, a poise that commanded attention.

  "I am Conor O'Neil, brother of Rory, and son of Gavin and Moira

  O'Neil. My home is Ballinarin, of the Hidden Kingdom in Ireland."

  "And why is your home called the Hidden Kingdom?" Elizabeth

  asked imperiously.

  "Because for centuries our enemies could not find their way in or out

  of Ballinarin. We believe it is watched over by spirits. And all who

  dwell therein are blessed by those same spirits."

  "Spirits, you say?" Elizabeth couldn't help smiling. This was more

  like it. A lively exchange was just what she enjoyed. Besides, not

  only was this man easy to look at, but his cultured voice was deep and

  strong. She sat back, prepared to enjoy herself. "What do you ask of

  this court?"

  Conor took a step closer, so that their glances could lock. It was a

  calculated risk. He was aware that Elizabeth held herself above all her

  subjects. But she was a woman. And he was a man who knew exactly

  how to look at a woman and make her feel special. "I ask only a

  chance to be heard. I know that I will receive a fair hearing from Your

  Majesty, for your reputation for fairness is known throughout the

  land."

  Her smile deepened. Not just lively, but flattering. A man after her

  own heart. "It is so. Speak then, Conor O'Neil. You will receive what

  you request. Justice. Nothing more."

  "I am most grateful, Majesty."

  Again Elizabeth found herself pleasantly surprised. Instead of the

  stilted argument she was expecting,

  Conor tossed his cloak rakishly off his shoulder and began to speak of

  his home and his family. He told of a special day, a wedding day,

  when his brother prepared to meet his bride.

  AnnaClaire looked around. The crowd had gone completely silent,

  hanging on his every word. When he described the scene of carnage

  and the pain his brother had endured, several women were seen to

  wipe tears from their eyes. Even the queen seemed moved.

  She held up a hand. "What you have described is an outrage. Are you

  suggesting such things were done at my command?"

  "The soldiers who committed these crimes have spread the word that

  they do the bidding of their queen. But I and many of my countrymen

  do not believe the Queen of England would order her soldiers to slay

  innocent women and children on their way to chapel."

  "Nor would I ever issue such a command, Conor O'Neil. If this

  terrible act was committed by soldiers of the Crown, they were not

  acting on my orders, but on their own cruel whims."

  "Aye, Majesty. I believe that to be the case. You are a kind and

  benevolent monarch, who would not tolerate such cruelty."

  "Your queen thanks you for your trust, Conor O'Neil. But such fine

  words do not absolve your brother of his crimes." She pointed a

  finger, and everyone in the room turned to stare at the man in chains.

  "It is said that Rory O'Neil, the Blackhearted O'Neil, has killed many

  an innocent Englishman in the name of vengeance. If that be true, he

  is no better than a wild dog that must forfeit its life for the good of

  mankind."

  "Majesty, if what you say about my brother be true, I must agree with

  you."

  This brought a loud murmur from the crowd.

  "But what if the only ones killed by my brother are English soldiers?"

  Conor lowered his voice, so that the crowd was forced to grow silent

  once more in order to hear. ' 'The same English soldiers who have

  brutalized innocent women and children. The same English soldiers

  who have burned the huts of hard working, Godfearing farmers. The

  same English soldiers who slaughtered their herds and looted their

  crops."

  "If that be true, and it can be proved to the satisfaction of this court,

  such a man would be hailed a hero, and the soldiers involved would

  be sent to Fleet in his place." The queen leaned forward, so that her

  eyes were level with Conor's. "But this court would demand

  witnesses, who would swear to such horrors."

  "Majesty, if I were given enough time, I could produce such

  witnesses." Conor saw Tilden relax his hold on his sword, before his

  scowl turned into a smug smile. In his youth, Conor had done enough

  fishing with Fiola the cook to know when to give the fish more line,

  and when to reel it in. He decided to give Tilden just a bit more line.

  "I suppose you have witnesses who will testify against my brother

  and swear to all manner of brutal acts which they will s
wear he

  committed?"

  The queen nodded. "The soldier who captured the Blackhearted

  O'Neil has detailed your brother's crimes. Crimes, I might add,

  against helpless women and children. For his courage in ridding the

  kingdom of such a mad dog, this soldier will be honored by his

  queen." She signalled to Tilden, who stepped forward smartly. "This

  man will become an officer in the Queen's Guards, and will be

  directly responsible for the safety of my person."

  There was a smattering of applause, and Tilden flushed with pride.

  "It was this man, then, who gave witness against my brother? This

  man who will now enjoy a hero's reward, Majesty?"

  She nodded.

  "Was it his testimony alone which has condemned my brother?"

  Elizabeth was growing weary of the questions. She leaned back,

  tapping a finger on the arm of her throne. "Aye, Conor O'Neil. This

  man's word against the Blackhearted O'Neil."

  "If then, this court accepts the word of one man, an English soldier, as

  proof of my brother's crimes, I would suppose this court would also

  accept the word of one witness against that same English soldier."

  Elizabeth couldn't hide her annoyance. "It would. But you said you

  had no time to produce such witnesses."

  "Aye, Majesty. There are countless men, women and children in my

  country who would gladly come forth to testify against the cruelty of

  this soldier. Alas, there is no time to send for them. But I do have one

  witness here at Court. And since you require only one, that will

  suffice."

  Again the room erupted with murmurs and cries of outrage.

  The queen held up a hand for silence.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  "If .you can produce such a witness, let him speak."

  Conor turned to Innis. The boy stood quaking, his hand clutching

  AnnaClaire's so hard, the knuckles had gone white.

  She knelt down and stared deeply into his eyes. "You must do this,

  Innis."

  He shook his head. "Speak to the queen herself? I...cannot. Give me

  back my knife, and I'll cut out the heart of the bastard, Tilden. But I

  cannot speak in front of this company."

  "You must. You must do it for Rory. And for yourself and your

  family. Don't you see, Innis? This is how you can avenge their deaths.

  This is how you will fight. Not with sword and knife, like Rory. But

  you will fight all the same. Like Conor. With words. With the truth."

  She gave him a gentle shove.

  Conor took his hand and led him before the queen. "Majesty, this is

  Innis Maguire."

  The queen crooked a finger, beckoning the lad closer. "Come, Innis

  Maguire. Tell us what you know."

  "I..." He swallowed several times, and cleared his throat. Seeing a

  blur of movement behind the queen, he looked up to see Tilden

  holding his sword at the ready. How he yearned for his knife. For the

  courage it would give him. But there was no weapon, save one.

  He swallowed back his fear, clenched his hands at his sides and tried

  again. "I watched the soldiers kill my mum and da, my grandda and

  grandma, my aunts and uncles and cousins. They even killed the

  babies who had fallen to the ground from their mothers' arms. And all

  the while they were killing, they were laughing, and jeering."

  The queen was visibly moved. ' 'You truly witnessed this?"

  He nodded.

  "And you alone survived?"

  "Aye." He swallowed. "Aye, Majesty."

  "How is it that you survived while all the others died?"

  "My da shielded me with his body. He died saving me."

  Elizabeth paused for a moment, studying the solemn lad before her.

  "And you saw the men who did this?"

  "I did. The leader had yellow hair, and a scar that ran from the corner

  of his brow to his chin."

  The crowd was already murmuring and pointing at the soldier who

  stood behind the throne, but the queen lifted a hand in an imperious

  gesture. "Go on, boy. Do you know this soldier?"

  "Aye, Majesty. He stands behind you now. The soldiers with him

  called him by name. Tilden."

  The once-orderly crowd erupted into chaos. Men were shouting,

  swearing. Women were shrieking.

  Elizabeth lifted a hand for silence. To Innis she said, "These are

  powerful words you have spoken, boy. Because of them, I will

  consider carefully."

  Pointing a finger at Rory she said, "Return the prisoner to Fleet until

  such time as I can determine his fate."

  "But Majesty..." Conor's words were cut off by an imperious look

  from the queen.

  "My soldiers will accompany Officer Tilden to his quarters and await

  my decision as well."

  As Tilden marched past Rory he shot him a look of triumph and

  leaned close to whisper, "This time, O'Neil, the beatings won't end

  until you're dead."

  Overhearing him, AnnaClaire rushed forward and fell on her knees

  before the queen. "Please, Majesty." She knew her voice was

  trembling. "I beg you not to return Rory O'Neil to prison."

  Elizabeth turned to Lord Thompson. "What is the meaning of this? Is

  this not your daughter?"

  He got to his feet. "Aye, Majesty. My daughter, AnnaClaire."

  ' 'The one who was kidnapped by this very outlaw?'

  "Aye, Majesty. The same."

  "Take this impertinent young woman to my chambers. At once," the

  queen added with a note of righteous anger. "Before I give her a taste

  of my temper."

  Chapter Twenty

  'AnnaClaire, my dear, I beg of you." Lord Thompson kept his spine

  stiff, his smile pasted on his face as he walked with his daughter to the

  queen's withdrawing room. "I have learned to gauge Elizabeth's many

  moods. She has reached the end of her patience, my girl. Hold your

  tongue, or you will pay a terrible price. Do you understand?"

  AnnaClaire nodded. ' Aye, Father. But I must let her know what I

  overheard. Tilden..."

  "Not one word, do you hear...?" His whispered warning died in his

  throat as the queen charged into the room, followed by her advisors.

  AnnaClaire's heart sank when she saw that Lord Dunstan was among

  those surrounding the queen.

  Elizabeth accepted a tankard of ale from a liveried servant and

  sipped. Then she sank into a chair and regarded the young woman in

  silence. As the seconds ticked by, AnnaClaire could feel her frantic

  pulse pounding in her temples.

  At last the queen spoke.

  "Lynley Lord Dunstan has told me that you were taken from your

  home, against your will, by that Irish outlaw. How is it that you now

  join his brother in pleading for his life?'

  "Because I have learned that he is a good man, Majesty. A man from a

  fine and noble family, who suffered the loss of the woman he..." Her

  voice wavered before she finally managed to say, "...the woman he

  loved."

  Elizabeth's gaze pinned her. More seconds ticked by as she watched

  AnnaClaire with a puzzled frown. Without warning she waved a hand

  at the others. "Leave us. I wish to speak to this lady alone."

  The men glanced at one another in surprise, then slowly took their

>   leave one by one. Lord Thompson and Dunstan were the last to go,

  though each took long moments to look from AnnaClaire to the queen

  before closing the door.

  When the two women were alone, Elizabeth stood and walked to the

  fireplace. For long moments she kept her back to AnnaClaire, while

  she stared into the flames.

  "So. You love this Irish peasant." It wasn't a question. It was a

  statement, uttered as calmly as though she were discussing the

  weather.

  Stunned, AnnaClaire cleared her throat before saying softly, "Aye,

  Majesty."

  Elizabeth turned. Her eyes glittered with a strange light. "It isn't

  always easy being a woman. There are times when our foolish hearts

  betray us. At such times we become weak. Vulnerable. At such times,

  we need someone to be strong for us. Someone who will keep us from

  making mistakes."

  "Majesty..."

  "You do not have my permission to speak." Her words were clipped.

  AnnaClaire bit her lip and lowered her head.

  "I have lost my heart a time or two. But I have been wise enough to

  know that nothing could come of it. It is enough to indulge my

  passion and move on. There are many who urge me to wed." Her tone

  was ripe with sarcasm. "They would have me share the Throne.

  Dilute my power. Acquiesce to the wishes of a husband. But they do

  not know me." Her head lifted. "I am Elizabeth, Queen of England,

  Scotland and Ireland. And no man. No man," she repeated fiercely,

  "will bend me to his will."

  "But Majesty..."

  Those regal eyes flashed fire, silencing AnnaClaire's protest. "You

  may suffer for a little while, but one day you will bless my name in

  gratitude for the strength of my resolve. I intend to save you from

  your own foolish heart. There will be no more talk of loving the

  Blackhearted O'Neil. He is unworthy of an English noblewoman.

  Now." She set down the empty tankard and reached for a bell pull. "I

  will discuss this Irish problem with my trusted advisors. And then I

  will meet again with Conor O'Neil, that handsome, charming rogue

  with the silver tongue." Almost to herself she added, "I believe I shall

  keep him here at Court, so long as he amuses me."

  While AnnaClaire stood rigid with shock, the door opened and Lord

  Dunstan and the others filed in. James Thompson took one look at his

  daughter's face and realized that she had just received the most