“Beautiful,” Moira whispered to Squire Drustan.
“Aye, my lady. It is indeed.”
“What do we do now?” she asked, looking at him.
“Now we go inside. The only ones that will be awake at this hour will be the staff. You see, no one is expecting us. I didn’t send word that I was returning and it was only by accident that I found you. So no one knows you are here. But I will have your father awoken at once.”
“No, please don’t make a fuss for me. Let him sleep.”
“My dear, he will be very angry if he finds out you have been home for hours and he was unaware.” He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her through the doors.
16
Moira perched nervously on the edge of an ornate settee in the small sitting room situated outside Lord Conell’s bedroom. The ceiling was twelve feet tall with a three-tier, candle-lined chandelier; on the wall opposite the double entry was a fireplace with a blue marble mantle. There were massive gold-framed mirrors on opposite walls, making the room look twice its size, and a large harp beside the crimson and cream nouveau patterned sofa and arm chair set. A heavy weight rested on her chest, and she chewed on her bottom lip. What if my father is disappointed with me? she thought. What was she supposed to say to a father she had always believed didn’t care? Taking a deep breath and slowly blowing it back out, she wished this meeting was already over.
Moira quickly jumped up as the door slowly swung open. A man in his early fifties cautiously stepped into the room. He took a deep breath and blew it out his nose as he shut the door behind him. For a full minute they stood staring at one another. He was still a handsome man, tall with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His hair was dark and wavy with some gray starting at his temples. Worry and fatigue had etched themselves on his forehead, but the creases eased as he offered a tentative smile.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” he said.
“That’s what I have been told. My memories of her are fading every day. All I remember is her smile.”
“She had a beautiful smile. I remember that too.”
An awkward silence filled the room, thick, like the morning fog. Moira clasped and unclasped her hands. Lord Conell shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “Um, I know this has come as a shock to you. I had to keep you a secret for so many reasons.” He hesitantly continued, “Not that there is ever a good excuse to leave a child.”
Tears rolled down Moira’s cheeks, and he rushed across the room to take her in his arms. “I am so sorry. I had no idea the people you were living with were so awful. I would have found you a better place if I had known. If I had it to do it all over, I would have stayed with you and your mother. I would have given up this life. No words can ever make it right. I am just so very sorry,” he said into her hair.
Moira cried for the loss of her childhood and the realization that she may have just done the same thing to her daughter.
They sat on the small sofa in the sitting room for hours. He told her everything, from his childhood and the time he shared with her mother to his disappointment in his son and his indifference at the loss of his wife. She shared all about living with the Bards and the years of planning and saving to be able to run.
“If you left the Bards over a year ago, where have you been? Squire Drustan only found out six months ago that you were gone,” Lord Conell asked.
“I, um . . .” Moira couldn’t tell him about Brian and the baby. “I have been trying to keep a low profile, for obvious reasons. I have been working in a bakery in Oidean,” she said.
“Well, I don’t care where you’ve been. I’m just so happy to have you finally here with me. Will you stay? Will you let me be the father I should have been all along? Is there any way you can forgive a foolish man?” His blue eyes searched hers.
“I may not fully understand your reasons for what you did, but I’m willing to try moving forward. I would like very much to finally have a home. Yes, I will stay,” she answered.
Lord Conell jumped up, knocking the sofa backward, as he hastily pulled Moira into his arms. They were both shaking with laughter and tears as he swung her around the room.
“I know I have already asked a lot of you,” Lord Conell said when they had righted the sofa and calmed their hysteria. “But I have one more thing to ask you.” She nodded, and he continued, “I wanted to name you after my grandmother. But your mother was afraid someone would figure out your heritage if we did. I was wondering if you would like to change you name?”
She pondered for a minute. “I think . . . that would be a good idea. This is a new start for me and I think a new name would help me put the past behind me. What did you want to call me?”
“Lady Nuala Conell,” he said. “She was my father’s mother. She was a remarkable woman and the people loved her, just as I know they will love you.”
“I would be honored to be named after your grandmother.” She smiled and tested her new name. “Lady Nuala.”
17
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER
Lady Nuala opened a black parasol to shade the bright morning sun as she stepped out of the palace she had shared with her father. She was dressed as a melancholy daughter mourning the loss of a father, and her heart matched. Once again her father had been ripped away from her way too soon. He had seemed to be so impenetrable when she met him. If she had known he was going to be gone so unexpectedly she would have tried to spend every minute together.
“Stop pretending to look so sad, my lady.”
Lady Nuala flinched at the harsh words from her brother.
“I am sad, you insolent oaf. I loved our father. He meant the world to me.” She dabbed at the tears she had been fighting all week.
“I think you mean he was the wealth to you, my lady.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You may have pulled the wool over my father’s eyes, but the rest of us see right through your sweet, innocent façade. I’ll take great pleasure in getting rid of you once and for all, my lady. You can rest assured about that.” With an exaggerated tip of the hat, he turned on his heel to join the rest of his father’s mourners.
“How dare he? He has only come home once in the last sixteen years. What does he know?” she said to Squire Drustan. “He’s just afraid that he’s going to have to share his inheritance, you know.” Lady Nuala glowered after her half-brother.
“Yes, my lady. You’re quite right.” The aging man bowed his head. “I did tell you long ago how he would feel about that.”
“I know, but it’s not something one can understand until they have experienced it,” she said as she took the arm of her dear friend.
“Don’t worry about him, my lady. Lord Conell has left precise instructions. No matter what, you will always have your share.” He took his place behind her as they approached the others.
Standing beside the open hole in the ground, Lady Nuala felt the heated stare of young Lord Conell from across the grave. Oh, stop it. I already know you hate me, she thought. She glared through her veil at Lord Niall Conell. One eyebrow was raised over his steel-gray eyes. Straw-colored hair stuck out from under his black hat. Moira would have thought him quite handsome, if she hadn’t known his true nature.
“May he rest in peace. . .” the priest was reverently quoting.
Lady Nuala looked at the handful of dirt she had been holding.
“Amen,” the priest concluded.
“Amen.” Lady Nuala let the handful of earth gently slide through her gloved fingers. There was a soft plinking sound as the dirt landed on top of the casket containing her late father. Before anyone could stop her, Lady Nuala left to find solace in her beloved palace. She was the first to leave the small family cemetery. She needed to be alone.
* * *
“That cursed thing lasted four hours,” Lord Niall complained. He was halfway out of his black costume before he entered the bedchamber that had been his as a child. “How long does one have to st
and around and talk about the deceased anyway? Not that bloody long, I can tell you that for sure. He wasn’t worth talking to while alive. Why waste good breath on him now that he is finally dead! And then I had to suffer through that awful Aog Feast. ‘Lady Nuala, we are sorry for your loss. Lord Niall, he was a fine man.’ If one more person tries to console me, I just might explode.”
He threw his mourning attire at the maid in the hall, grabbed a shot glass of whisky, and raised it above his head. “Here’s to the old impotent lout. May his riches continue to flow—to me! Ha!” He threw the liquid down his throat.
“Yes, sire.” The young woman gave a curtsy, her eyes wide in shock. It was no secret to the staff that the new lord of the house was not overly fond of his father, but as far as they were concerned it was none of their business, unless they wanted to disappear. They had heard stories of many who had angered young Niall and then vanished. “You’re right, sire.” The frightened young woman could think of nothing more to say. She quickly turned and ran down the hall to Lady Nuala’s chambers.
* * *
The young maid gave a quick knock on the huge oak door. “Yes, who is it?” Lady Nuala asked hesitantly. For all she knew, it was Lord Niall to throw her out on her rear.
“Sorry to disturb you, m’lady,” the tiny young woman said, holding Lord Conell’s soiled clothes. She squeezed into the room. “But there is word from the castle in Dòmhail.”
“Wonderful. Um, I don’t know your name.” Lady Nuala looked at the girl expectantly. “You’re new, right?”
“Oh, um, it’s. . .” the girl stammered.
“Go on. I won’t bite.”
“Yes’m.” The maid blushed. “My name is Charlotte. The king sends his regrets at not being able to attend the memorial services for Lord Conell.” Lady Nuala nodded encouragingly. The maid coughed and continued, “Um, and they would still like to have you come to Dòmhail for the summer without your father.” Charlotte smiled broadly.
“Excellent.” Lady Nuala was excited to have an escape from her brother. “Please send word that I would love to join them for the summer.” Lady Nuala looked at the bottle of whisky on her dressing table. Upset as she was, she didn’t want to turn to the bottle and end up like Lord Niall. “Was there something else?” She raised her eyebrows.
“No, mum,” the servant replied.
“Thank you,” Lady Nuala said. “If you have other things to do, you may go.”
“Oh!” Charlotte bumped into the door on the way through it. Lady Nuala looked up as Charlotte came back in. “I’m sorry, my lady. I just had a question.”
“Yes?” Lady Nuala smiled.
“You are as nice as can be. Why do your maids keep leaving?” Charlotte asked.
“Oh.” Lady Nuala was caught off guard. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been able to figure that out either.”
“Okay. Sorry to bother you. You have things to do,” Charlotte said as she backed out of the room.
“I must pack,” Lady Nuala said to her empty bedchamber. “Oh, how I wish Father were coming. He loved Dòmhail in the summer!”
* * *
Brian dropped heavily onto his favorite stump hidden in the dense woods outside the modest farm of Mary and Gerry Blyth in the village of Teich. Patiently he waited for the sun to break the horizon. He watched his breath rising in puffs of steam and disappearing into the frosty morning air, and spent some time calculating the years he had been coming to this spot. It didn’t feel like it had been sixteen years. Sometimes it felt like only yesterday that Moira fled their marriage, and then sometimes it felt like a hundred years had passed. He rubbed his stubbly chin, feeling old and worn out.
The eastern sky gradually grew lighter as dawn broke in the distance. Automatically his eyes turned to the back door of the house. He knew she would appear any second.
The wooden door creaked and there was Isobail Blyth with her bundle of freshly washed linens. His breath still caught in his throat every time he saw her, just as it had sixteen years ago. Once again he was struck by how stunning she was. Her shoulder length hair was a lovely shade of chestnut brown, her skin a smooth alabaster, her eyes a dark emerald green. And she had a smile perpetually tugging at the corners of her lips. He had watched her grow from an unsteady and curious tot to a caring little girl and then blossom into the loving and helpful young woman she was today. She was everything he had dreamed she would turn out to be. And for him the best part was the only similarity between her and Moira were the eyes. He was positive she didn’t have a heartless bone in her body.
Brian jumped slightly as he heard feet crunching on dry leaves. Then he relaxed and a smile tugged the corners of his lips as he saw the young man coming down the road. “Right on time, Blane, as usual,” he whispered under his breath. For sixteen years now, Brian had been coming to watch his daughter once a week, and for the last thirteen, so had Blane Andersone. He knew almost as much about him as he knew about Isobail. Blane was three years older than Isobail and the youngest of three boys. He lived next door and was hard working and dependable. He loved Isobail more than anything in the world.
* * *
“Mornin’, Isobail. May I help you with the wash today?” Blane asked with a chivalrous bow.
“Good morning, Blane Andersone. No, you may not help, but you are welcome to stay and have a chat, if it won’t take away from your own chores.” Isobail cocked an eyebrow at Blane, and he grinned sheepishly. “I don’t want you to incur the wrath of your mama again.”
“Not a chance! I’ve been up for hours, and I’m done until after lunch. You sure I can’t help?” he pleaded. Isobail shook her head, so Blane sat on the woodpile. “Okay, what should we chat about?” Blane asked, “Hmmm, let’s see. There’s the weather, the local gossip, or the strange man that watches you. Yes, let’s talk about that.” Isobail glared at him over the top of the clothesline. “What?” he asked innocently. “You mean to tell me that a strange man—who doesn’t even live here, by the way—comes once a week to stare at you all day, and that doesn’t even bother you a little bit?”
“Blane, we’ve already talked about this,” Isobail said, rolling her emerald eyes.
“But . . .” Blane stopped when Isobail’s father came out of the house. “Morning, Mr. Blyth, sir.” He jumped to his feet.
“Mornin’, Mr. Andersone. A wee bit early for a social call, isn’t it?”
“Papa, it’s just Blane,” Isobail protested.
“Yeah, it’s just Blane,” Blane whispered with a scowl.
“Hrmph, I’ll see you two at lunch then.” Gerry walked in between them and out to the barn.
Blane broke the silence after ten minutes. “Iso?”
“What?”
“You still say it doesn’t bother you at all?”
“No, he doesn’t bother me. That’s just it. He comes here every week and just watches me. He has never hurt me or even tried to come near me. For as long as I can remember he’s been there. He’s like an old friend.”
Blane gave a cynical laugh.
“What’s wrong with that?” Isobail asked crossly.
“An old friend? You don’t even know him.”
“But I do! There’s something very familiar about him. He won’t hurt me; I know that for a fact,” Isobail said, glancing to where Brian was hiding in the trees.
“How do you know?” Blane was standing next to her, following her gaze.
“I just do, okay? Now I don’t want to hear anymore about it, do you understand?”
“I won’t bring it up again. I don’t get it, but I won’t bring it up anymore.” He raised his right arm as a promise.
“Good.” She nodded and shoved him playfully.
“Blane Andersone!” A shrill voice cut through the peaceful midmorning air. Birds rushed out of their nests, and Isobail jumped, pulling her hand from Blane’s chest.
“I think your mama noticed you were gone. You better get, and I have more things to do in the house,” Isobail said,
lowering her eyes to the ground.
“Bye, Iso,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried out of the yard. “Thanks a lot, Ma. Thanks a lot,” he said glumly.
18
Bang, bang, bang. Startled, Lady Nuala sat straight up in bed. She flopped back into her bed with a sigh. Bang, bang, bang. Someone was knocking on the door.
“Enter,” Lady Nuala said weakly.
The round kitchen maid was nervously peeking through the slightly open door. Lady Nuala sat up and stared at the crack in the door. “Come in.” Lady Nuala cleared her dry throat. “I can’t hear you if you talk from over there.”
“Beg pardon, m’lady.” The round woman curtsied awkwardly. “There’s some of the townfolks needing an audience with you.”
“With me? Why not Lord Niall?”
“I wasn’t able to find him,” the maid said.
“Do you know what they need? I’m not sure I can help anybody,” Lady Nuala said.
“I don’t know, m’lady. They just told me they needed to speak with one of you.” The kitchen maid turned and left the room without waiting for a response. Lady Nuala threw back her duvet cover, stepped into the slippers beside her bed, pulled on the robe from the foot of her bed, and headed for the door.
“Hmmm, hmmm.” A throat was cleared quietly behind her.
Lady Nuala jumped before turning around to face Anya, her petite new maid. “I’m sorry, you frightened me. Was there something that you needed?” she asked, her emerald eyes still wide from being startled.
“N-no, m’lady. It’s just, just, are you going down to meet people dressed like that?” The maid quickly dropped her gaze to her feet.
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