A Rose in Splendor

by Laura Parker

  This was why she had come home, to be a part once more of the wild, ever-changing beauty of a land whose heart was not its monuments or its politics but the natural constant vibrancy of its nature and the people who loved it more than bread and hearth.

  When the moment came for her to step forward with Dary, she did so proudly and without fear that she would be recognized. If there were spies on this hillside, they could do nothing now. This moment belonged to the honest, God-fearing souls who had risked their lives to be a part of an outlawed worship of God. If only Killian were here, the moment would be perfect.

  The priest did not look at her as he performed the baptismal ceremony and Dary was named Dary Finian Fitzgerald, given in foster care to Lady Deirdre Fitzgerald MacShane.

  It was over quickly, and before she turned away from the altar, the faithful had begun to disappear into the mists below. The touch at her elbow surprised her and she turned back to face Father Teague.

  He had lifted back his cowl and his fair hair hung in damp strings before his brow. “’Tis a brave but dangerous thing you’ve done, taking in an orphan bairn without name or lineage. Any of the folks gathered here this morning would have raised him.”

  “But would they have loved him?” Deirdre asked softly.

  Teague looked at the woman before him, seeing past her beauty for the first time to her spirit, and he understood why Killian had chosen her. “May God go with you, Lady MacShane,” he said in blessing.

  “And you, Father,” Deirdre answered.

  The trek home was accomplished more quickly than the journey out; and when Deirdre sat beside Killian, who had waited to share her breakfast, she could hardly contain the joy that filled her.

  “You look especially lovely this morning,” he remarked as he gazed at her. “Was the view that fulfilling?”

  “Aye, and more,” Deirdre answered.

  “Good, then you will have a memory to take with you.”

  Deirdre shook her head. “I have said I will not go.”

  “You have said a great many things, Dee, but I wonder if you will truly disobey the wishes of your husband?”

  Deirdre reached out across the table. “Do not force me to go. Please, Killian. I will be discreet as a mouse. No one will even know I’m here.”

  “Not even when you attend Mass on a moonlit hillside?”

  Deirdre gasped. “You knew!”

  Killian nodded grimly. “I am not a fool, acushla.”

  “Why did you not say so and spare me the need for deception?” she retorted.

  “Stubborn,” he muttered. “That is why I have decided that you must go to safety. You risk too much, even for my taste.”

  “You might have come with me,” she said low.

  “But I did.” His hard-featured face was inscrutable. “Who do you think stood at your back while Dary was christened? Who led your pony home?”

  “Enan,” she answered faintly.

  Killian shook his head. “Enan went ahead to stand watch while Mass was said.”

  “But you were here when I entered,” Deirdre protested.

  “Two doors,” Killian offered coldly. “So, you are not so clever, Dee, and I cannot spend my days spying upon you. You will pack today and we will leave for Cork in the morning.”

  Deirdre stiffened at the rebuke. He was packing her up and sending her off as though she were a naughty child or a faithless wife. “What will you do?”

  Killian shrugged. He had yet to make his move against O’Donovan, but his weeks of spying had uncovered dangerous information that could hang the smuggler. “I’ve an interview with the authorities. When I’ve proven myself a loyal subject to the English Crown, I will return to Liscarrol. I must find a way to make a decent living before I can consider sending for you.”

  “That could be months!”

  “So it could,” he answered heavily.

  Deirdre looked at him incredulously. This cold man was the one she had met in her father’s kitchen, had encountered again the day Fey was discovered to be a lass, had faced in Cork the morning she challenged his deceit about the journey to Liscarrol. Each and every time she thought she had his measure, he confounded her. He had lied to her once; he was doing so again. “Did you take an oath of loyalty and embrace a new religion in Cork?”

  To her surprise, Killian seemed not at all affected by her words. Except for the shuttering of his gaze by heavy black lashes, he did not move. “I have not, but perhaps I shall do both,” he said in a curt voice.

  “I cannot imagine myself wed to a turncoat,” she answered defiantly.

  Killian leaned toward her, his face set in lines of anger and some indefinable torment. “Another Bill of Discovery may soon be brought against me. If it is found that Liscarrol exceeds the number of acres a papist is legally entitled to, the land will be confiscated unless I swear my loyalty to the English throne.”

  Deirdre shook her head. “I do not care! As much as I love Liscarrol, I love you more. If we must leave, then let’s do so together.”

  The speech knocked the force from Killian’s anger. It was the one thing he had never expected to hear from her. The one desire that had never left her, even when she had followed him to Paris, was her wish to live at Liscarrol. His love had not been enough to dissuade her from the goal. It was too much to expect that she had suddenly changed her mind. He must not read too much into her words, he cautioned himself. He must not.

  “You speak out of anger and anxiety.” He covered her hand where it lay on the table but his voice was relentless and hard. “I will not lose Liscarrol. It will remain yours as long as I live to hold it!”

  Deirdre reached out to him but he was on his feet. “So, you will pack and be ready, at first light.” He strode toward the door. “I must see to a few things. We will talk again at dinner.”

  Deirdre sat a moment in stunned sorrow. He was sending her away, and barring an act of outright defiance on her part, she must accept his decision.

  “His lordship’s got the right of it. Ye should be safe away afore trouble returns.”

  Deirdre looked up to find Mrs. Ross at her elbow. “I do not agree, Mrs. Ross. And another thing, Captain MacShane is not a lord.”

  The woman stared at her a long moment before saying, “And yet he’s the look and sound of a lord; and being that he’s snared the heart of a lady, ’twould seem he’s earned the respect of the title.”

  Chastened by the woman’s words, Deirdre’s cheeks burned. “I learned long ago that a man’s estate is seldom a fair measure of his worth. My husband is a MacShane, and there was a time when a clan name was enough for an Irishman.”

  Mrs. Ross smiled. “Aye, ’tis enough for me. Will ye need me help in packing, yer ladyship?”

  Deirdre sadly shook her head. “I will do it myself. Where is Fey? If I am leaving, she must go with me.”

  Mrs. Ross’s expression soured. “Well that she should! Me Enan’s a shade too fond of the lass for me liking. She’ll be hanging about, watching him at his chores, while himself struts before her like a cock in the barnyard.”

  The rest of the morning passed in uncanny quiet as the promise of a beautiful dawn turned into a steady downpour that grayed the sky and hills and valley until the view from the windows of Liscarrol was that of a single, vast, colorless expanse.

  When Fey returned at mid-afternoon, she was unusually subdued; and though they did not speak of it, Deirdre knew that Killian had informed Fey that she was to leave Liscarrol also.

  Dusk came quickly, changing the pale grayness to smoke and laying deep purple shades among the shadows.

  The heavy pounding at the door came only an instant before Mrs. Ross appeared from the rear of the house.

  “That’ll be Oadh O’Donovan himself,” she announced loudly and then melted away as quickly as she had come.

  Killian smiled briefly at Deirdre as he rose from their evening meal. “Better than a hound, that woman.”

  “Och! ’Tis a devil of an evening to b
e abroad,” O’Donovan announced when he was shown into the Great Hall. Rain streamed from his cloak and ran in rivulets from his bare head. “Will ye not be offering a man a seat by yer hearth, MacShane?”

  “That depends upon the reason for your visit,” Killian answered, blocking his path with a wide-legged stance.

  O’Donovan looked over Killian’s shoulder to where Deirdre sat. “A good evening to ye, lass. Will ye offer a neighbor a dry spot out of the rain?”

  “Lady MacShane will do as I wish,” Killian answered for her. “What brings you here on such a night, O’Donovan? Have you come to bait your trap?”

  O’Donovan’s brows rose in amazement. “Musha! Would I then be knocking and paying me respects?”

  “Perhaps,” Killian replied, but he stood aside.

  O’Donovan stomped his feet and swung his sodden cloak from his shoulders, dropping it on the slate floor. His gaze moved greedily over the contents of the table as he came forward. “It would nae come amiss, a piece of that bread, la—yer ladyship.”

  Deirdre pushed the bowl toward him with two fingers, refusing to serve him. As Killian stood by, he helped himself and ate two large pieces of oat bread in as many bites. When he reached for the third, Killian’s hand shot out and moved the dish from under his grasp.

  “I did not invite you to dine. Tell me why you’re here, or go the way you came.”

  O’Donovan’s pale eyes gleamed in the meager light. “So, ’tis to be that way. Fair enough. I came to warn ye that English soldiers are once more in the valley.”

  Killian met his sly gaze with a wintry look. “You bastard!”

  “Well, that’s fine thanks! Did ye think I would nae come to warn ye if they were after ye? As they’re nae hunting ye, I thought ye’d care to know that, too. There’s nae pleasing some.” He straightened himself to his full height. “And ye can be certain there’ll be no more warnings.”

  “Who are they after?” Deirdre questioned as the two men glared at each other.

  He turned a wide grin on her. “Ye being a daughter of the Sidhe and an early riser on new-mooned Sabbaths, I thought ye would know. There’re hounds abroad asniffing and abaying for blood.” He leaned toward her. “Who’s blood do they howl for, beanfeasa?”

  She realized several things at once: that O’Donovan knew of her journey to the hillside Mass; that her fear of spies among the communicants had been a legitimate concern; and that O’Donovan’s news was connected to the event. “The English hunt a priest.”

  O’Donovan chuckled with glee. “There! Did I nae say you’d know the answer? And not just any priest. ’Tis a certain scoundrel going by the name of Teague O’Donovan.” He winked at Killian. “The English have it on good authority that he’s a smuggler as well as a rapparee.”

  “But that cannot be true!” Deirdre shot to her feet. “He’s a kind and gentle man whom I doubt is worldly enough to understand the full peril in which he stands. That’s true, isn’t it, Killian?”

  Killian watched O’Donovan. There was a trap for him in this, he could smell it. But when and how would it be sprung?

  O’Donovan rubbed his bearded chin. “I will be going now, for a man knows when he’s outstayed his welcome.” He started toward the door but then turned back. “A last word to ye. I would nae open me doors to another knock this night.” He stared pointedly at Killian. “Cousin Teague is of a mind that he has friends among the local gentry. I would nae want ye to be hanged for harboring a criminal.” With his cloak flung carelessly over his shoulder, he descended the stairwell.

  “What does he mean?” Deirdre questioned when Killian bolted the door and returned. “Will Father Teague come here?”

  “No,” Killian replied curtly. “That he will not!”

  As Deirdre watched, he drew his cloak from a peg and settled it about his shoulders.

  “What are you doing? You can’t be thinking of trying to find Father Teague.”

  “That is exactly what I’m planning to do,” Killian replied. He took his pistol from his belt and began reloading it. “You will not be aware of it because there’s been no time to tell you, but Teague and I are childhood friends.” He looked up from his work with a small smile. “But for a chance encounter with a wild-haired lass of seven, I might be wearing a cassock like his today.”

  “Why did he not tell me?” Deirdre felt faintly betrayed by both men.

  “I would not allow it. Teague is a man of odd temperament. He’s a dreamer, a fanciful man of strong ideals but little common sense. No man in Munster would trust O’Donovan; but Teague has, and how his cousin has betrayed him.”

  Deirdre gnawed her lip. She did not understand all that Killian told her, but one thing was vividly clear. “So you will risk your life to save Father Teague.”

  It was a statement requiring no answer, so Killian said nothing. O’Donovan had known he would, too. That was why he had brought the news himself. No doubt he hoped the English would catch the priest and the owner of Liscarrol together and hang them both.

  “You might be killed or at the very least arrested. If you’re caught, you will be charged with abetting a priest.”

  Killian looked up again, his work finished, and slipped his pistol back into his belt. His expression was grim. “Why did you not think of that the morning you sneaked away from me to attend Mass? What I do, I do with your knowledge.”

  “It makes it no less dangerous,” she said.

  “No,” he answered unhelpfully and belted on his sword.

  “Let me go with you.”

  Killian looked up sharply, as though she had struck him with a stick, and then his expression turned gentle and he shook his head. “No, lass.”

  “I’m a fair shot,” Deirdre insisted. “I’ve held the English at bay once already. You’d have been proud of me.”

  “So Mrs. Ross said,” he answered with a warming grin.

  “Mrs. Ross said?” Deirdre echoed. “She’s never had a pleasant word to say to me in all these months.”

  “There you’re wrong. You quite astonished her that particular day, and don’t think the whole valley doesn’t know of it. Not a week past, Cuan O’Dineen offered his respects to you for your fine accounting with the soldiers. Do not allow it to go to your head, however. I, for one, was not amused.”

  “Perhaps Father Teague will come to us if we wait,” Deirdre offered.

  “He will not. I know where he is.”

  “Where is that?”

  Killian gazed at her and said, his voice cool, “There are things a man may not tell even his wife.”

  “You do not trust me!” Deirdre said stiffly.

  Killian turned away. “’Tis not a matter of trust. ’Tis a matter of survival, and not only our own.” He turned to Mrs. Ross, who had again appeared in the Great Hall. “Stay here. Stay quiet. And keep the doors locked against all comers until I return.”

  “Aye, yer lordship,” she answered as she opened the door to allow him to depart.

  “He did not even say goodbye,” Deirdre murmured forlornly.

  “’Tis no reason,” Mrs. Ross answered with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “He’s nae going away. He’s riding out a bit, ’tis all.”

  “Riding?” Deirdre questioned, but Mrs. Ross was already halfway across the room and did not turn back.

  Deirdre hurried to the stairwell and climbed to the second floor, where the view from one window was that of the stable.

  It was that short space of time between twilight and nightfall when the world is purple. The shape that bolted from the stable into the night was blackness itself against the softer, dusky violet darkness. A swirl of black cape over the horse’s flank gave the pair a nightmarish quality.

  For an instant, Deirdre stood rooted to the spot as horse and rider galloped out over the bridge and into the valley. She did not need to see the rider’s face, nor did she need the answer to the question of where the horse had come from. She simply knew, and the knowledge made her blood still in her veins. The rid
er hidden beneath the black-winged cloak was Killian, the rider of her dreams.

  She did not cry out or even hurry down the stairs. She dressed quickly but methodically in her riding boots and heaviest wool gown before tying a woolen mantle across her breasts and binding her hair back with a strip of cloth. She reached for the ancient O’Neill dagger last, slipping it into her waistband.

  When she reached the first floor she saw Mrs. Ross. “Mrs. Ross! Send your husband for Cuan O’Dineen. Tell him that Father Teague has been betrayed and that English soldiers have come for him. My husband has ridden out to warn the priest, but he must not stand alone. Tell Cuan ’tis his moment to clear himself with me in the matter of the hanged child. He’ll know what I mean.”

  “Where are ye going, ma’am?”

  “To find Killian. O’Donovan will betray him, too!”

  *

  Beyond the bridge, the valley quickly gave way under his horse’s hooves to a steep climb. It had ceased to rain in the few short minutes between O’Donovan’s departure and Killian’s own, but the difference was negligible, he decided as the thick mists clung and ran down his exposed face. His cloak drew heavier with every moment, and the boggy ground sucked noisily at his horse’s hooves as it struggled up the climb. Killian held the horse with an easy rein, allowing it to pick its path by instinct over the dark, rock-strewn ground.

  He knew where to find Teague, thanks to Colin Ross’s quick eye. Colin had seen the priest climbing the hill just before dark. It was known that on nights such as this, the priest chose to sleep in the open, offering up, like some ancient monk of old, the night’s discomforts as penance.

  “Gom!” Killian muttered as his mount slipped and nearly went down. If not for the need for speed, he would have left the horse behind. Colin kept it in the hills, pasturing beside the cattle. It was an advantage that only he and Colin were aware of, and one that might foil O’Donovan’s plot. For Teague to elude the soldiers he would need to be mounted, as they were.

  The wind whipped his cloak mercilessly, promising more rain before long. As he reached the shoulder of the hill, Killian reined in his mount and stood in the stirrups to search the area. Behind and below him Liscarrol stood like a block of black stone. Before him, the hill curved gently away to the right and rose toward another, higher crest to the left. He followed the slope to the right, riding through the soft wet air toward the granite outcrop that had served as an altar a few weeks earlier.