She picked up her bow. Given only two choices, shooting at a Norman knight was by far the lesser evil. He had proven himself a steady target when Oswald took his shot, so if he didn’t quaver, if the wind didn’t gust, and if her arrow didn’t dislodge a feather, she wouldn’t miss.
The noise of the crowd diminished as she nocked her arrow. Waves of silence began from the men behind her and flowed across the field. The silence did not touch her, though, for her ears rang with the banging of her blood.
The figure of the hood-shrouded man seemed to retreat as she lifted her bow, pointed the tip of the arrow squarely at his head, then nudged it a fraction upward. Inhaling deeply, she drew back, locked the bowstring, and closed her eyes.
Father God, guide my arrow!
Opening her right eye just the barest bit, she released the string…and heard the crowd sigh like a bellows, then break into exuberant applause.
Oswald had already withdrawn another arrow, preparing to shoot again, but Cahira knew she could not continue. By the grace of God, she had proven the O’Connors’ bravery and demonstrated Gaelic skill. She would not allow the gallant knight who had saved Brian to suffer harm.
Slipping her bow over her shoulder, with long strides she walked across the field and called to the masters of the games. “Lord Richard! Philip of Athlone! I have a message for you!”
Richard stood from his chair and scowled at the irregularity. “Why are you not preparing to take your next shot?”
“I am done with shooting, sir.” She turned to Philip and doffed her cap, lowering herself in an extravagant imitation of the bow she’d seen the knights perform. “Philip, I have won for you today on behalf of Rathcroghan and your kinsman, Felim o’ the Connors.”
“Felim?” Philip was on his feet in an instant, his large blue eyes vivid and questioning. “But Felim sent no representative to the games.”
“He sent his daughter.” Cahira straightened herself, then gave the Irish chieftain a cocky grin. “And it is she who addresses you now, pleased to report that her arm is as steady as any Norman knight’s.”
A wry smile gathered up the wrinkles by Philip’s mouth. “Céad míle fáilte, Cahira.” The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. “A hundred thousand welcomes to you. You have honored my house today.”
Behind his hood, Colton heard the roaring crowd and knew something out of the ordinary had occurred. He strained at his bonds and bellowed for release, and a moment later his comrade yanked the hood from his head.
Colton stared in amazement. The Irish spectators had spilled onto the grass, and all semblance of order had vanished from the field. His young opponent was whipping through the crowd in some sort of mad jig, cavorting before Richard and Philip with more than a dozen of his countrymen. In the twinkling of an eye the field of competition had been transformed from a somber place of testing to a riotous celebration.
“What has happened?” he asked, tugging uselessly on the ropes that still held his wrists. “Has the world gone mad?”
“She’s a girl,” the knight replied, his voice heavy with disbelief, “a bloomin’ Irish princess. Be glad you didn’t compete against her, Captain. What glory lies in victory over a wench?”
A girl? Colton’s gaze ran over the archer’s tunic, taking in the unstitched hem, the slender legs, the dainty leather shoes. No wonder she had used such a short bow!
He felt the corner of his mouth twist in a half-smile. No wonder she had felt compassion for the old man. Women were naturally more tenderhearted than men; most women would have dissolved into tears at the thought of even picking up a weapon. But this girl was different—and a king’s daughter! He knew little about Irish royalty, but it was clear from this girl’s example that Irish princesses did not lounge around their castles as decorative bric-a-brac.
Joy blossomed on every Irish face. From out of nowhere, someone produced a harp and pipe, and the lively sounds of an Irish jig filled the air.
The knight cut his wrists free, and Colton rubbed the chafed skin as he watched a juggler toss an endless circle of apples into the air. There would be no more contests today. The ale would begin to flow freely, and the knights who weren’t disposed to dance would be so affronted by the frivolity they’d take themselves away. And Oswald, who had only equaled a girl, would certainly not object to ending the tournament.
Colton’s smile turned to a chuckle. The girl, the Lord be praised, had just saved him from forfeiting what would have been a costly wager. He’d have to thank her.
His eyes searched for her, but found Oswald instead, standing alone at the edge of the merrymakers. He stood with his hand resting upon his sword belt, his dark eyes intent as he followed the surging crowd. His mouth twitched in a grim little grin as he nodded to a pair of dancers who slipped from the mob.
Colton swung his arms forward, easing his tense shoulder muscles, and considered his friend’s situation. It was no great shame to be bested by another knight, but to be matched by a woman. Such a thing would be inconceivable in Normandy or England. Women in those countries knew their places; they did not dress in rags and compete with men. True, England’s Queen Matilda had once donned armor and led her knights into battle, but she never cast aside the dignity of her position. And yet the Irish stripling who had pleaded for the life of the used-up old man was the daughter of a king!
Colton moved into the crowd, anxious to find the girl. After jostling amid the dancers for what seemed an interminable length of time, he found his little competitor pressed against a rail fence, hemmed in by a broad-shouldered warrior and a nervous-looking maiden in simple garb. He recalled seeing the odd pair earlier, when he had smacked the disguised princess with the pig’s bladder. No wonder the grizzled guardian had been insulted!
“Sure, now, and your father will have me hide,” the bearded man was saying, his face the color of an overripe apple. “Why couldn’t you have told me you were planning to start a riot?”
The girl crossed her arms across her chest. “I didn’t start anything.”
The warrior fixed worried eyes upon the other woman. “Sorcha, what are we to do? News of this will reach Rathcroghan soon, perhaps even before we do.”
“Leave Sorcha alone.” The princess flung herself into the maid’s defense as passionately as she had fought for the old man. “’Tis my doing, and I’ll take responsibility for it. Murchadh, you can say you knew nothing.”
“I’ll not be lying to your father.” The color in the man’s face deepened, and droplets of sweat ran down his jaw. “What sort of devil possessed us to do this thing?”
Stepping forward, Colton thrust his way into the conversation. “I was wondering the same thing myself.”
All three jerked at the sound of his voice. Colton extended his hand in a sweeping and graceful gesture, eager to make peace and the proper introductions. He bowed to the besieged princess, then offered a lesser bow to the man and the maid. When he looked up, he thought he saw a smile play briefly on the princess’s lips.
“Congratulations, Your Highness. You are an excellent archer.”
She gave him a brief, amused glance. “There’s no need for such titles with me; I care not a whit about my father’s position. But I thank you all the same.”
Painfully aware of a protective gleam in the warrior’s blue eyes, Colton thrust his hands behind his back and tried on a pleasant smile. “But you have not answered their questions…or mine. Why would a king’s daughter want to participate in an archery contest? In my country, archery is not a suitable avocation for young ladies.”
“This is not your country.” One of her brows lifted to emphasize the point. “I came here—we came here—because we want you Normans to know that Éireann’s people are not unskilled or foolish or ignorant. We are different than you, sure, that much is painfully obvious. But we will not sit still and let your horses and your swords and your lances carve up our lands.”
Her well-spoken answer seemed to satisfy the warrior, at least, for he turn
ed and planted his feet before Colton, a satisfied smile curving his lips as he crossed his arms.
“I would be remiss if I did not thank you for taking the old man’s place,” she continued, lowering her gaze as a soft blush lit her cheeks. “He belongs to my father’s house and, unfortunately, he wanders when he drinks.” She looked up and gave him a heart-stopping smile. “Your gesture was most valiant. I will be certain to tell Brian’s wife which knight redeemed him today.”
Colton stared, totally entranced. “Thank you for not killing me.”
“One small favor deserves another.”
She smiled up at him then, her green-gold eyes sparkling with pleasure, and Colton resisted the urge to laugh aloud. By heaven, where had this girl come from? He had never known such boldness in England or Normandy. Such beauty either. Though her windblown hair fell only to her shoulders, he could tell it was silky soft, a rich, silver-streaked river his fingers would love to explore.
“May I know your name?” he asked, aware that the man and the maid both stared at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “It would give me great pleasure to be able to pray for you.”
Her red lips parted in surprise. “Am I in great need of prayer?”
“Surely every human soul benefits from a kindly word whispered in the Lord’s ear.”
She gave him a look of faint amusement, then startled him by reaching out and taking his hand. “I am Cahira of Rathcroghan, the land where you and your companion rode yesterday. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Colton.”
Wednesday, August 18, 1999
Ballyshannon
I didn’t expect Maddie to be exactly happy when we arrived back at the house two hours late, but I certainly wasn’t prepared for the frigid reception she gave Taylor. We found the O’Neils in the kitchen, where Maddie was washing dishes. When Taylor moved to kiss her cheek, he caught a cold glare and the back of her head instead. He looked at me, lifted a brow, then sidled around the bench and sat at the table across from Mr. O’Neil. “Well,” he said, talking to the back of Maddie’s head, “I’m happy to say my library days are done for a while. I brought back enough books to keep me busy for a couple of weeks.”
I leaned in the doorway and watched him attempt to make amends for our late arrival. I had the feeling that defrosting Maddie would be about as easy as counting waves, but I knew I ought to try. “I’m sorry we were late,” I said, stepping into the room. “It was my fault. I got caught up in daydreaming about Cahira, and the time just slipped away. Then we took the wrong road and went about twenty miles before we realized we were heading in the wrong direction.”
Taylor looked at Maddie with one eye closed in a cautious slit, as if viewing a bomb he expected to go off at any moment. She didn’t explode though; she just turned and frowned at him with cold fury.
I couldn’t take any more. I could endure feeling like an interloper, but Maddie would cut her own throat if she mistreated Taylor. In a brightly false voice I called out, “Maddie? Can we talk for a minute? Maybe outside?”
Her mother shot her a warning look, but Maddie wiped her wet hands on a dishtowel and sailed past Taylor, past me, and through the foyer. I smiled at Mrs. O’Neil, then looked at Taylor. “We’ll be just a minute.”
The air in the foyer seemed chillier than it had a moment before. Maddie had left the door open, and I could see her standing outside on the little stone porch, her arms wrapped around herself. I followed her outside and closed the door tightly, so no one inside could overhear.
I pasted on a nonchalant smile and met her gaze. “We could walk down to the creek, don’t you think?”
She set off across the parking lot without a word. I followed, a little amazed that she would step outside with me at all. I knew she saw me as Public Enemy Number One, but here she was, probably ready to lay down the terms of my surrender.
She moved over the gravel with long, purposeful strides, then stopped at the picnic table and benches beneath a sprawling beech tree. She perched on the edge of the table and crossed her arms, her hot eyes fixed on the creek, her hands clenched tightly against her ribs.
Standing before her, I ran a hand through my hair and hoped I’d find the right words. “Maddie,” I began, “first, don’t be upset with Taylor because we were late. We are late partly because I lost track of time, and partly because we got lost. It’s not Taylor’s fault.”
Maddie was apparently in an Old Testament mood and unwilling to turn the other cheek or forgive. “Fine,” she snapped, her blue eyes boring into mine. “Is that all you have to say?”
“No, it’s not.” I pressed my hand to the back of my neck and sent up a heartfelt prayer for wisdom. “I think I know what’s wrong between us, and I want you to know you shouldn’t be intimidated by my friendship with Taylor. He and I have been friends for a long time, but that’s all we are—-friends. He doesn’t love me, and I don’t love him.” I barked a short laugh. “Sometimes I think he considers me just one of the guys. There’s nothing between us—at least nothing that need concern you.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Maddie answered in a choked voice. “I know you’re just friends. I knew that the day I met you both.”
I gaped at her in confusion. “Then why—”
“Why am I upset? Because…I’m not his everything. I don’t know if you can understand this, Kathleen, but I want to be Taylor’s friend, his lover, and his wife. I want to be his best friend, and it’s right that I should be. It kills me to know he tells you things he wouldn’t tell me. You two have secrets I’ll never learn, and you’ve shared so many things I’ll never be a part of.”
Her pale blue eyes brimmed with threatening tears, and I felt helpless—and guilty—at the sight of them. “Maddie, you will become everything to Taylor in time. You’re going to be his wife. You’re going to share things with him I can’t even fathom. You’re going to lie in his arms, kiss him to sleep at night, and bear his children, for heaven’s sake. I’ll never do that—I don’t want to do that. The past Taylor and I share is nothing compared to the future you have before you.”
I bit my lip, finally realizing something myself. “While we’re being honest with each other, I should probably come clean about something. Taylor and I will never again be as close as we once were, and perhaps that’s why I’ve been resenting you. My friendship with him will diminish every day you two spend together. Maybe I’ve been jealous of that… I know I haven’t wanted to lose him. I came on this trip hoping I’d find some way to convince him that marrying you is a mistake, but now I know it wouldn’t be. You two are different, but Taylor loves the differences you bring to his life.”
Sniffling, she wiped her cheek with her hand. “Really?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He told me so, just today. You’re all he ever talks about.”
Her tears were flowing freely now, wetting her cheeks, and her nose was running. She sniffed again, then hiccuped a sob. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a witch. But you haven’t exactly been easy to live with.”
Her remark may not have been designed to sting, but it did. I drew a deep breath, told myself I deserved that barb, then looked at her again. “I’m sorry too. And while I can’t stop being Taylor’s friend, I could go home. I will, if you want me to.”
Her gaze dropped like a stone, and for a long moment she didn’t say anything. I stepped toward the house, taking her silence for agreement. I was about to go upstairs and start packing when she shook her head. “You can’t go. Taylor really wants you here for the wedding. It would kill him if you left now.”
So. She wouldn’t mind me going, but for Taylor’s sake she wanted me to stay. Sacrificial love in action.
“I’ll stay.” I swiped my hand through my bangs and stared out at the horizon, where the sun was about to touch the tips of the hedgerows along the road. “And I’ll try to be conscious of the times I might be treading on your toes, okay? I really want you and Taylor to work.”
She nodded again, gave me a wobbl
y smile, then slipped off the picnic table and walked toward the house. I watched her go, then slipped my hands into my pockets and turned toward the road and the setting sun. Funny—I had come to Ireland fully intending to convince Taylor that this marriage would be a mistake. And just when I was ready to admit that Maddie and Taylor made a pretty good pair, I had accidentally caused more trouble than I ever had on purpose.
I heard the heavy wooden sound of the front door and knew that Maddie had gone inside. She’d find Taylor, murmur her apology and accept his, then they’d probably sit on the couch and whisper whatever lovers whispered to each other when they’d had one of those minor tiffs that felt like the end of the world.
Not wanting to intrude on their private moments, I began to walk down the long drive. The temperature had dropped in the last hour, and I shivered as I hunched inside my sweater. It felt good to be outside, and even better to be alone. I should have come to Ireland with Aunt Kizzie, even if I had to beg or borrow the money for our hotels and airfare. If I were traveling with her like a regular tourist, I’d be able to concentrate on Cahira O’Connor without being distracted by this soapy version of As the Farm Turns.
I lifted my head and listened to the cascading duet of birds in a nearby tree. Beneath the music, Maddie’s words echoed in my brain. She wanted to be Taylor’s everything. Was any woman ever everything to a man? No wife I knew could make that claim. My parents, who’d had a comfortable marriage until the day they died, weren’t everything to each other. They were too different. My father was a hunter and a sports nut; my mother loved books, art, and music. Despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, they lived separate lives in the week—Dad stayed in New York, Mom in Connecticut. On the weekends, for my sake, they came together. On Saturday afternoons my father took my mother and me to a mild and entertaining movie—Mom didn’t approve of violence or cursing. As predictable as the rising sun, my dad would march to the concession stand and order three small boxes of buttered popcorn, three small sodas, and one box of Raisinettes to share. On Sunday we attended the New Haven Baptist Church as a family, and afterward Dad peeled out of the parking lot so we could beat the crowd to the local cafeteria. On Monday morning, without fail, my dad went back to the city, and Mom retreated to her Monday-through-Friday world. When I went to college, they shifted their Saturday afternoon movie to Saturday night, probably feeling a little like youngsters out past curfew.
The Emerald Isle Page 14
