Rory

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  painful of all news.

  He took her cold hands in his. "My dear, are you all right?"

  Elizabeth waved an imperious hand. "Your daughter is fine, Lord

  Thompson. Just fine. She will return home with you like a dutiful

  daughter. Is that not so, AnnaClaire?"

  "Aye, Majesty."

  "Go then. You are excused."

  Fighting tears, AnnaClaire fled.

  As she took her leave she heard the queen say to a servant, "Fetch

  Conor O'Neil. I will meet with him in my chambers when I have

  finished here with my advisors."

  "What is it, my lady?" Innis, waiting alone in the hallway, caught

  AnnaClaire's hand when she turned away to hide her tears. She was

  too distraught to realize that he had ceased calling her Englishwoman.

  And that the note of contempt had been wiped from his tone, to be

  replaced with genuine concern.

  "Oh, Innis. I've made such a mess of things."

  "Nay, my lady. Conor thinks he will still be able to persuade the

  queen to free Rory. He said the queen likes him. And women who

  like Conor have always given him whatever he wanted."

  "But it will be too late. You heard Tilden."

  "Aye. If I'd had my dagger, I could have given it to Rory for

  protection."

  She shook her head. "Already Rory has been returned to Fleet. He's in

  the hands of guards who will show no mercy."

  "Then it is up to us to free him."

  For a full minute AnnaClaire merely stared at him. He was nothing

  more than a child. She had no right to even consider the words he had

  spoken so simply. But it was the only thing that made any sense.

  Child or not, she had to agree.

  Wiping her tears, she nodded. "Aye, Innis. It is up to us. And we must

  not fail him now, when we've come so far." She caught his hand and

  began to race toward the door.

  "Do you have a plan, my lady?"

  "Nay, Innis." She was already breathless. And afraid. But she dare not

  stop now. "But I'm sure something will come to us by the time we

  reach Fleet Prison."

  "Why did you buy these pastries from the vendor, my lady?"

  AnnaClaire carefully wrapped the pastries in a linen square. "I intend

  to distract the jailer." She gave a wry smile. "I'm not certain my

  feminine wiles are enough."

  "What are feminine wiles?"

  "I'll tell you another time." Her smile faded at the sight of the stone

  fortress before them. What had she been thinking? How could she

  face this daunting place again?

  She swallowed, and forced herself to move.

  Once inside she prayed she could remember all the twists and turns

  that led to Rory's cell. As they descended the steps, slick with blood

  and excrement, she felt Innis clutch at her arm.

  "I'm... afraid."

  "As am I," she muttered. "But remember, if we should fail, Rory will

  forfeit his life. You remember our plan? Do you think you can do as I

  asked?"

  "Aye, my lady. I'll...try." The boy bit down hard on his fear and

  moved by her side.

  A deep voice stopped them. "'Ey there. Where d'ye think ye're goin?"

  AnnaClaire and Innis froze, then slowly turned. The burly jailer

  grinned, revealing blackened teeth. "Why, ye'r that lady who paid me

  the gold."

  "Aye. And there's more for you today. But first we must visit the

  same prisoner as before."

  He glanced at the boy, then at the woman. Two easy marks, he

  figured. Especially without the man to protect them this time. "Right

  you are. What's in the parcel?"

  AnnaClaire swallowed. "Food. For the prisoner."

  "Well now. I'll just have some of that." He held out his hand. When

  AnnaClaire took a step back he said sharply, "If you want my help,

  ye'd best hand it over."

  "Aye. Of course." AnnaClaire unwrapped the pastries and watched as

  the jailer popped one into his mouth, then a second, then a third.

  Innis tapped at his back. "If you keep that up, there soon won't be any

  left for our friend in the cell."

  "Watch it, lad. Keep yer hands off me." He jerked away. "Yer friend

  won't mind. 'E'll still get to look at the female 'ere. That should be

  reward enough." He ate another pastry, then for good measure, ate the

  last as well. He belched loudly, then called, "Follow me."

  He led them deeper into the prison, steering them along darkened

  corridors, far from the other guards.

  "This isn't the way we came last time," AnnaClaire muttered as she

  slipped and steadied herself against the wall.

  "I'm takin' ye along a different route this time." He chuckled to

  himself. "So's none of the other jailers happen upon us. Watch where

  ye walk. There's all sorts of... unpleasant things underfoot. Including

  rats."

  He'd expected to hear a yelp from the female, and was disappointed

  when she spoke not a word. With a soft chuckle he continued leading

  them ever deeper into the depths of the prison. When he was certain

  they were far enough away that he could do as he pleased with them,

  he turned, only to find himself alone. Swearing fiercely, he began to

  retrace his steps.

  "Are you sure this is the way, my lady?"

  "Aye. I recognize that cell." AnnaClaire shuddered at the sight of the

  men in chains. The sounds of their moans and cries sent fresh shivers

  along her spine.

  She was nearly running now, in her haste to find Rory before the

  jailer discovered their little trick.

  "Here." She turned a darkened corner and Innis followed.

  In the darkness she paused, listened, then pointed toward the keyhole

  in a rusty door. "This is it."

  Innis held up the key he'd picked from the jailer's ring. When he

  turned the key in the lock, nothing happened.

  "Rory," AnnaClaire called.

  She heard a muffled reply.

  "Rory." Without a torch, it was impossible to see inside the cell. She

  prayed she wasn't making a terrible mistake. "Rory. We've unlocked

  the door. But it's stuck. You'll have to put your shoulder to it. Hurry.

  Please."

  She-turned to Innis as a shuffling sound could be heard from within.

  Just then, she saw the light from a torch heading toward them.

  Though it wavered and flickered, she could tell it was coming closer.

  "The jailer. Rory, the jailer is coming. Hurry. Oh hurry. Please."

  She heard the curses as the jailer spotted them. Heard the sound of his

  footsteps as he began to run toward them. Then she heard the scrape

  of the door as it was forced open.

  "So. Ye thought ye could trick old Colby, did ye?" The jailer swung

  the torch like a club.

  Rory ducked, then, with a single blow, sent the man tumbling

  backward. The torch flew out of his hands and landed several feet

  away, where it sputtered in a pool of murky blood.

  "Hurry, Rory," AnnaClaire called as she caught Innis by the hand. '

  'We must get out of here before Tilden finds us."

  "Did someone mention my name?"

  They turned to find Tilden, sword already unsheathed, stalking

  toward them.

  "I see you planned to spoil my fun." He glowered at AnnaClaire.

  "N
ow you're going to pay for this."

  "Let the woman and boy go." Rory's voice was deadly calm.

  "Why should I?" Tilden asked with a sneer.

  "Because, if you do, I won't fight you."

  Tilden threw back his head and roared. "What are you going to fight

  me with, O'Neil? Do you think your bare hands can win over my

  sword?"

  "I'll manage to inflict a few blows before you end my life. But I give

  you my word. If you let the woman and boy go free, I won't defend

  myself."

  "How noble. But this time, I have no intention of allowing any

  witnesses to survive. I'll start with you, O'Neil. Then the boy. And I

  may allow the woman to live long enough to...pleasure me. After that,

  you can have her for eternity."

  He ran a hand over the blade of his sword and smiled at the thought of

  what he was about to do. Then he thrust it menacingly.

  Rory danced to one side, and the blade sang against the stone wall.

  With a muttered oath Tilden turned and attacked. Rory ducked, then

  brought his knee up as hard as he could. With a grunt of pain Tilden

  doubled over. But when Rory brought his fist down, Tilden shifted,

  deflecting the blow. He straightened, thrust the blade, and gave a

  laugh of satisfaction when fresh blood flowed from Rory's already

  wounded shoulder.

  "How much pain can an Irish peasant endure?" he called.

  "More than an English bastard." Rory stepped back, avoiding another

  thrust, then managed to land a blow to Tilden's nose that sent blood

  gushing down the front of his tunic.

  "You'll pay for that, O'Neil." He cupped a hand to his nose, then

  charged forward with all the fury of a wounded bull.

  Rory managed to avoid the first thrust, but the next one caught him in

  the thigh. He was startled when his leg refused to hold him. Sinking

  to his knees, he watched helplessly as Tilden lifted his sword and

  towered over him.

  "I didn't know it was your woman I'd killed that day, O'Neil." The

  soldier's eyes glittered with madness. ' 'My men and I were just out

  for a little pleasure. But she was a pretty enough piece. Now the lad's

  mother, there was even more enjoyment. She cried and begged and

  pleaded for the sake of her babies. That just made it so much better."

  From behind him came a strangled cry of pain and rage. '-iRory was

  right. You're nothing but an animal, Tilden. You don't deserve to

  live."

  At the sound of Innis' tear-choked voice, Tilden's head came up. He

  saw the boy lift something from the waist of the jailer. Saw something

  shiny streak through the air and land with a quiet thud in his chest.

  Felt the pain, hot and cold at the same time. And watched in disbelief

  as fresh blood began to ooze through his tunic.

  He turned, intent upon striking down the lad. Before he could, the

  sword was knocked from his hand. With a cry of rage he turned

  toward Rory. And realized, too late, that his own weapon was now in

  Rory's hand.

  "At last. Do you know how long I've waited for this moment?" Rory

  plunged the sword deeply into Tilden's chest, and watched as the

  soldier crashed to the stone floor and lay, writhing and twisting in

  pain. "May you burn in hell for all time, Tilden."

  They stood, shocked into silence, as the soldier's life slowly slipped

  away.

  Too weak to continue standing, Rory draped an arm around

  AnnaClaire's shoulders, and nearly fell. It took all the strength that

  AnnaClaire and Innis could manage to drag him, stumbling and

  falling, out of the prison and into the sunlight.

  "We must take him to your father's home, my lady." Innis knelt

  beside Rory, who had collapsed in the lane.

  To hide him from view, they rolled his unconscious body beneath a

  hedge.

  "Nay, Innis. That will be the first place they'll search for us."

  "But he'll soon bleed to death."

  AnnaClaire watched as carriages rolled past just a few feet from

  where Rory lay. It was so unfair to have come so far, only to have

  freedom snatched from their grasp. There had to be a way.

  "Stay here," she called.

  Lifting her skirts, she began to walk along the street, hoping no one

  would notice the blood that stained her gown. Seeing a farmers'

  market crowded with vendors and shoppers, she strolled closer. There

  were several carts and carriages parked in a cluster. A quick glance

  told her that their owners were too busy to notice her.

  She chose a vendor's small pony cart littered with sacks of fruits and

  vegetables. Grabbing the reins she led the pony until they were out of

  sight. Then she climbed up to the seat and cracked the whip. Pony and

  cart took off with a clatter. When she heard a commotion behind her,

  she urged the animal into a run.

  "My lady." Innis looked up when she rolled to a stop. "You stole

  this?"

  "Aye, Innis." She leapt down, and together they struggled to help

  Rory into the back of the cart. As she covered him with the sacks she

  muttered, "I know it's wrong, but right now I'm desperate to save

  Rory."

  As she climbed to the seat and took up the reins, Innis said, "If we

  can't take him to your home, where will we hide him, my lady?"

  She peered over her shoulder as the horse and cart started through the

  streets of London. "I've thought of a place. I know it sounds like

  madness, but it's the only place they'll never think of looking for

  Rory."

  "Where is that, my lady?"

  "In the queen's own home. My father has a suite of rooms in

  Greenwich Castle."

  "Ah. Conor O'Neil." Elizabeth turned from the looking glass, then

  waved her maid away.

  When they were alone in her chambers, she pointed to a silver tray on

  which rested a decanter of ale and two silver chalices. "I'll have some

  ale. You may join me."

  "Thank you, Majesty. You are too kind." Conor filled the chalices,

  then handed one to the queen.

  She crossed the room and sat. Pointing to the chair beside hers she

  said, "Come. Sit. Tell me about yourself and your family. I want to

  hear more of this hidden kingdom, Ballinarin. Such a lovely, musical

  name."

  He sat down and gave her a smile guaranteed to melt her heart. "You

  would love it, Majesty. There is something wild and free about my

  home. A sky so blue, it would rival the blue of your eyes. A land

  greener than the emeralds at your throat."

  "So." She touched a hand to her necklace. "You appreciate fine

  jewels."

  "Aye. And beautiful women."

  She could actually feel herself blushing. This Irish rogue did have a

  way about him. "Do you live like barbarians?'

  He merely smiled. "Our keep at Ballinarin is not so fine as

  Greenwich. But our cook can make salmon taste like heaven. Her

  beef and kidney pie is a thing of beauty. And her pastries melt in your

  mouth." He stretched out his long legs, enjoying the fire, the ale and

  his regal hostess. "Besides that, our servants are loyal. Our tenant

  farmers are industrious. And our people are good, God-fearing men

  and wom
en who want nothing more than to live and love and serve

  their God and their queen."

  She shook her head and found herself laughing like a schoolgirl. "All

  this just rolls off your tongue like honey, Conor O'Neil." She sat back

  and studied him for several moments, noting the steadiness of his

  gaze, the slight flicker of amusement around the lips. Oh, he was a

  handsome devil.

  She shook her head, as though not quite believing what she was about

  to say.

  ' What is it, Majesty? What has you looking so perplexed?"

  She drained her glass and set it aside. "I'm not sure why, Conor

  O'Neil. Perhaps it is your charm. Perhaps it is my own foolish heart.

  But I have decided to have your brother brought before me once

  more. If he can persuade me of his truthfulness..." She shrugged. "We

  shall see."

  As Elizabeth rang for her maid, Conor drained his ale in one long

  swallow. It was too soon to hope. But he couldn't help thinking about

  the trust his family had placed in him. And how desperately he longed

  to take his brother far from this vile place.

  This would be their last, and perhaps their best, chance for freedom.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  'What do you mean, the prisoner is gone?"

  The soldier who had been elected to deliver the news to the queen

  blanched at her explosion of fury. "I know only that when his cell was

  checked, it was empty." He stared at the toes of his boots, wishing he

  could flee. Or at least fall through a crack in the floor and disappear.

  "There is more, Majesty."

  ' More? What else? Has Fleet been emptied of prisoners? Did an army

  of Irish peasants storm the prison demanding the freedom of their

  hero?"

  "Nay, Majesty. But...it was reported that the prisoner escaped with

  the help of a beautiful young woman and a small lad."

  "A woman and lad? That is all it took? The fool guards couldn't stop

  one lovesick woman and a small boy? Fools. All of them. Heads will

  roll for this."

  Elizabeth unleashed her wrath on her servant, who had just poured an

  elegant French wine into two crystal goblets. With a sweep of her

  hand the queen sent the goblets flying, sending a geyser of wine and

  shards of crystal spilling across the snowy linens. "Send for James

  Lord Thompson at once."

  When the servant departed, the queen glowered at her handsome,

  sophisticated dinner partner. "What do you know of this, Conor