Cahira danced with everyone who asked her to join the circle, and she was not surprised when she turned, hands on her hips, and found Colton shuffling in the line in front of her. His eyes gleamed black and dangerous in the sunlight, and he seemed not to care that his feet hopped and kicked in a completely different rhythm than everyone else’s. She threw him a deliberately flirtatious smile, then laughed and followed the advancing line of women, grateful that the exuberant dance would account for the blush that seared her cheek.
When a brilliant sunset blazoned the western sky, cloaking the hills and hedges of Athlone in a dreamy haze, Murchadh and Sorcha brought the horses up from the pasture. Cahira looked around the courtyard, half hoping she would have another chance to speak to Colton, but he was nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, she placed her foot in Murchadh’s hand and let him hoist her onto the horse’s back.
You are a fierce fool. She turned her horse toward the road to Rathcroghan and gathered the reins in her right hand. Why did she suddenly feel such melancholy? She had accomplished all she set out to do: She had uplifted Gaelic honor and pride before a pack of overconfident Normans. Why, then, did her heart feel strangely bereft?
“We’d best hurry,” Murchadh said, swinging his thick leg over his gelding’s back. “I wouldn’t want your father to be worrying about us out in the dark. Though ’tis unlikely that Richard would attempt to delay us, surrounded by friends as we are, I do not trust the sly scoundrel.”
“Father won’t worry about us.” Cahira uttered the words while she glanced over her shoulder. Was there anyone in the hall or the courtyard who might worry about her? Anyone who even cared?
Why should there be? Colton might have liked her—she thought she had seen at least a trace of favor in his eyes—but perhaps his comrades had spent the afternoon chiding him for his part in setting up their humiliation. Oswald certainly despised her. Colton might soon learn to dislike her too out of loyalty for his friend.
She swallowed hard and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, for the wind had turned fresh and cold. Behind her, Murchadh’s mount snorted and leapt to the head of the little pack, so she gave her horse a little ripple of the reins and urged him to follow. The animal obeyed instantly and lifted his feet in a steady trot, a bone-jarring pace that just might shake some sense into her by the time they reached Rathcroghan.
Darkness rose like an underwater spring, filling first the hollows, then flooding the hills, flowing up tree trunks and hedges as darkness engulfed the ground. Murchadh and Sorcha rode side by side in front of Cahira, seeming to sense that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Their velvet tones filled the cool air, the voices of two people who had grown infinitesimally closer over the space of an afternoon. Cahira closed her mind to their conversation and gazed wistfully at the purple sky, wishing that someone rode beside her.
A wind blew past her with a faint moan, bringing with it the faint but frantic sound of galloping hoofbeats. Cahira turned in the saddle, the muscles of her throat moving in a convulsive swallow as she waited to see what sort of madman had followed them. Without looking, she knew that Murchadh had turned too, with his dagger in his hand, ready to fly.
Would Richard dare attempt to capture her? Such folly was unthinkable, with her father’s best man standing guard and her kinsman’s warriors assembled at the rath, but perhaps he was more scheming than she realized.
“Cahira.” Murchadh’s voice was still and serious; to disobey was unthinkable. “Get behind me, lass.”
Fear blew down the back of her neck as she leaned forward and nudged her horse with her heel. The animal had just begun to move when she looked over her shoulder and saw the solitary rider—a man in mail armor and a blue and white surcoat. The knight reined in his horse and slowed to a walk, then lifted his hand in greeting. “Hallo! I seek Cahira o’ the Connors.”
Cahira felt her heart pound when she recognized the voice, but Murchadh was not disposed to look kindly upon any late-approaching intruder.
“Why, Sir Knight, do you hail us?” Murchadh’s tone suited the twilight; he spoke in a dark, liquid voice brimming with restrained power.
“Pardon me, s’il vous plaît.” The knight removed his helmet and held it close to his chest. “But I only wished to speak with the lady.”
“The lady is a king’s daughter.” Murchadh showed his teeth in an expression that was not a smile. “She cannot be approached so casually.”
“I will hear him.” Cahira turned her horse to face the knight, then took a deep breath. No matter what his reason for this unusual encounter, the answer to her next question would either warm or break her heart. She might as well ask and hear the truth straightaway.
She looked directly at him, and felt pleased when he didn’t pull his eyes away in a grimace of embarrassment. “What brings you away from Athlone, Sir Colton?”
The knight leaned forward in his saddle and softened his smile. “Only the pleasure of your company, my lady. I knew you had an able escort, of course”—he nodded in Murchadh’s direction—“but such a rare treasure should not be entrusted to one man alone. If it please you, I would like to offer my company until you reach your home. Then I shall return to Athlone.”
Cahira thought she might burst from a sudden swell of happiness. He wanted to be with her! After all she had done on this day, still he fancied her.
A flurry of soft curses and warnings poisoned the air in Murchadh’s vicinity, but Cahira ignored his strangled noises and smiled at her bodyguard. “Murchadh, this knight will ride beside me until we reach Rathcroghan. You and Sorcha shall lead, and we will follow.”
“’Tis most irregular,” Murchadh growled.
Cahira gave him a glare fit to sear his eyebrows. “’Tis what I desire.”
Murchadh lifted his gaze to heaven as if appealing to a higher authority, then turned his horse and snorted in contempt. Sorcha gave Cahira a clear warning look, then urged her mount to follow Murchadh. Thankfully, Cahira noticed, Murchadh and Sorcha set a walking pace. Murchadh might have been in a hurry to return home, but he knew it was hard to talk to a companion while the beasts were trotting, and well nigh impossible at a canter. And it was most important that she talk to this knight.
“Aren’t you doing your horse a great disservice?” she asked when he pulled his huge mount alongside her smaller gelding. She glanced pointedly at his animal’s lathered chest. “If you would remove that heavy seat from his back and leave off that clanking tunic you knights seem so fond of—”
“This heavy seat enables me to remain on his back while I am jousting,” Colton interrupted, with no trace of irritation in his voice. “And this clanking tunic, as you call it, has saved me from many a glancing blow.”
“Truly?” Cahira gave him a look of disbelief. “It hardly seems substantial enough to withstand a battle-ax.”
His eyes lit with mischief. “I’ve not been tested with an ax, and I’ve no great desire to be. And ’tis certainly not impenetrable. I’ve seen a spear pierce a suit of mail like a knife through butter, and a direct hit with an arrow can part the links.” He glanced down at the mail sleeve covering his arm, then grinned at her. “But it sheds glancing blows as easily as a duck sheds the rain. I’m surprised you don’t have such a suit in your own wardrobe, Princess Cahira.”
Cahira felt herself blushing and looked away, rattled. Though her name sounded lovely on his lips, it did not fit at all with that peculiar English title.
“Please, call me Cahira,” she said, finding her tongue. “My father is the king of Connacht, but who knows which of my kinsmen will be king after him? We have a saying: Is ferr fer a chiniud—a man is better than his birth. You are whatever you make of yourself.”
He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with gallantry. “’Tis a lovely saying, and far lovelier when you say it. There is much I’d like to learn about the Irish…about your people. I have been in this province for only a few weeks, and I am well aware of my ignorance.”
&n
bsp; “If you would be knowing the Gaels”—Cahira raised her chin—“you might begin by knowing the land itself. Look around you.” She lifted her hand, indicating the dusky green hills, the darkening sky, and the verdant hedgerows that bordered the trail. “We have a saying—if you don’t like the weather, don’t worry, it’ll change soon enough. Our people are just as changeable, in their way. They are friendly, like the land; stubborn, like the cliffs; and sweet, like the warm wind. ’Tis not a bad thing to be Irish.”
He listened with a smile that lingered on her, more warming than the fading autumn sun. A gleam of interest filled his dark eyes. “I like the people I have met here. And I would like to learn as much as you will share with me, Cahira.”
Again, that delightful shiver when he said her name. Cahira stiffened upon her mount’s bare back, well aware that Colton’s gaze had wandered from her face and slid down to the soles of her shoes. Her cheeks flushed hotly against the cool air. “And who says I will be sharing anything with you?”
He gave her a friendly, confident smile that sent the blood rushing through her veins. “The Almighty himself says a man who follows God will find the desire of his heart.”
“And what would your heart be desiring, Sir Knight? Connacht’s hills? Her farms?” Cahira’s mind burned with the memory of Richard, saucy and bold, offering her father’s own servant as an archery target. She couldn’t keep a thread of bitterness from her voice. “Or perhaps you’re just wanting to help your Lord Richard enslave my father’s people. Are you a mindless slave to your master, or will you be thinking for yourself?”
His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed slightly. “I took an oath of loyalty to Lord Richard, and I intend to keep it. But I am no mindless servant. I obey him because he is an honorable man.”
“Honorable?” She shot him a cold look. “Is using an old man for target practice an honorable tradition in—well, wherever you come from?”
“Normandy—and no, ’tis not exactly fair. But if the man was a thief—”
“Old Brian’s no thief. A drunk, perhaps, but he has no need to steal. I’m sure the charge was false.”
Colton frowned, but said nothing for a long moment. They rode without speaking, letting the silence stretch between them, and finally he spoke again. “Hear me, Cahira. I’m a knight, not a baron. I don’t want land, and I wouldn’t know what to do with Ireland’s hills if the Almighty himself stepped out of heaven and offered them to me. But if God would deign to give me one of Ireland’s fair daughters,”his voice dropped to a lower, huskier tone, “I would certainly do my best to please her, now and forever.”
Caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy of his voice, Cahira stared at the tips of her horse’s ears and struggled to frame a reply. Were his words a declaration of wooing or mere flattery? Did he truly fancy her, or did he intend to use her? If she allowed this knight to call on her at Rathcroghan, her father would be forced to reach some sort of peace with Richard de Burgo. All who knew of Colton’s courtship would believe that her father had accepted the Normans’ presence in the land. But Cahira knew he could not, he would not, do so.
And yet, how could she turn this knight away? She had never met a man like him.
“If you would be wondering about how to please a Gaelic lass,” she whispered, her voice trembling with tension, “let her know you value her for herself alone, not for who her father is. For many an Irish woman’s temper is as bright as her hair, and she’ll not be trifled with, no matter how smooth-tongued the suitor.”
“Cahira,” he whispered. Just that. And he lifted a brow and pulled back on his reins. She followed suit, and together they waited, breathless and silent, until Sorcha and Murchadh had progressed several paces further down the trail.
“I do beg and pray you will give me leave to call upon you.” Colton was looking directly at her now, examining her face with considerable absorption.
Cahira shook her head. “My father distrusts Normans, especially your master. You would not be welcomed at Rathcroghan, no matter what the reason.”
“I didn’t ask to call upon your father. Give me leave to call upon you.” His voice deepened as he studied her with a curious intensity. “Is there some private place we can meet?”
Her thoughts jackrabbited through her mind, scampering in all directions. “Unescorted?”
“Of course not. You bring your maid, and I’ll bring my friend. But I must see you again.”
“Why?” The word fell from her lips before she could guard the thought, and his lips curled at the question.
“Why? Cahira O’Connor, have you no idea what a treasure you are? I am a man of sense and sensibility, and I know a rare beauty when I see one. Please, lady. Say you’ll meet me on the morrow. Name the time and place.”
“But your master—”
“Lord Richard has not forbidden us to follow our hearts. Indeed, I cannot help but believe he would welcome an alliance between any of us and the people here. His intentions are honorable. He longs for peace.”
Biting her lip, Cahira looked out into the gathering darkness and prayed for a guiding light. Her father wanted peace. And Richard, no matter how misguided he might be about the value of human life, had not said anything to her today about pressuring her father.
“There’s a place where the banks of the River Shannon meet with the cattle trail leading to Rathcroghan,” she answered quickly, her eyes upon Murchadh’s shadowy back. “Meet me there tomorrow, in the first hour after midday. You know the spot. You stopped to water your horse there yesterday.”
Surprise blossomed on his face. “You were the girl in the water? By heaven, I should have known!”
“Please, I must join the others.” She gestured toward Murchadh and Sorcha, who were very nearly out of sight. If she delayed much longer, Murchadh would turn around and ride back to discover why she lingered in the deepening twilight. “Return to your master now and meet me tomorrow, if you will.”
“I will be there, Cahira o’ the Connors.” Colton lifted his hand in salute, then flashed an irresistibly devastating grin. “Until tomorrow.”
Cahira nodded, then waited until he turned his horse and turned the animal toward Athlone. “Until then,” she whispered, watching him ride out of sight.
Cahira walked outside under a thick black sky while Murchadh went in and reported the day’s adventures to her father. In a most unflattering display of cowardice, Sorcha fled to the kitchens, preferring to give Mags the good news about Brian’s rescue rather than be scorched by the reflected heat of Felim O’Connor’s wrath.
Cahira shivered within her cloak, then paced slowly before the wide oak doors. She felt like a coward herself, waiting out here instead of standing with Murchadh, but he had insisted that he tell the story. “Me father was a filid, a natural storyteller,” he told her as they stabled their horses, “and when I’m done with telling your father, he’ll be thinking you’re the bravest, loveliest daughter a man could have.”
Somehow, he had convinced her. And while Cahira didn’t quite believe him, she had to admit the hall seemed quiet within. She’d heard no bellowing, no shouting, thundering, or weeping. But, then again, Murchadh would only tell the heroic parts of the story.
Her teeth had begun to chatter by the time the door opened. Murchadh stood there, his face a study in gold and shadow in the torches’ flickering light. “Why, it’s the wee imp,” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with false surprise. “Why are you hiding out here? Come in at once. Your father is ready for prayers.”
Cahira gave Murchadh a grateful smile as she stepped into the hall. “He’s not raving mad?”
“He’s furious.”
She saw the smile hidden in the corner of his mouth, and sighed in relief. “Thank you, Murchadh, for explaining things. Now, if you will only promise not to mention the knight who pursued us on the road—”
Murchadh held up his hand to silence her. “Felim would never admit it, but he’s frightfully proud of what you did for old Brian. He’s
only worried that you’ll never find a husband who can outshoot you. And as for that knight—” He paused and scratched at his beard. “Did I see a knight? Faith, my memory slips more with every passing day. If you’re wanting to tell your father about such things, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
Cahira pressed her fingers to her lips, quelling the sudden urge to laugh. Murchadh slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, then he slipped out into the darkness, leaving Cahira to face her family alone.
She dropped her cloak on a bench in the entry, then walked to the small chapel off the great hall. Her father stood before the altar, an open prayer book in his hand. Her mother knelt on a cushion, her eyes already closed in prayer. Without a word, Cahira knelt by the railing and allowed herself to fall under the spell of her father’s voice as he recited the canticle. His melodic voice usually echoed with humility as he approached the throne of Grace, but Cahira couldn’t help but notice that a hint of boastfulness lined his voice tonight.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation,” her father prayed, his hands lifting with the eloquence of his words. “Whom shall I fear?”
He’s thinking of Murchadh’s story. He believes I humiliated the Normans. But my wee contest may not quench Richard de Burgos greed.
“The Lord is the refuge of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
Father God, what does he think I have done? I only wanted to make a point. I did not want to keep our people forever at odds. Connacht needs peace, and we must find some way to establish peace with Richard. Until we do, I will never be able to acknowledge my feelings for Sir Colton.
“I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. O wait for the Lord!”
Cahira and her mother joined in the refrain: “Have courage and wait, I say, for the Lord.”
Turning from the wooden cross over the altar, Felim rested his right hand upon Cahira’s head, his left hand upon her mother’s. “See that ye be at peace among yourselves, my children, and love one another. Follow the example of good men of old, and God will comfort you and help you, both in this world and in the world which is to come.”
The Emerald Isle Page 21
