The Faithful Heart

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  “Yes, but-”

  “Would you run the risk of losing her just when you have found her again?”

  “It will be her choice, Aunt Agatha,” Ruairc said stiffly.

  “I doubt that very much, Ruairc," she replied dryly, her assessing gaze never wavering from her nephew's face. "Just be sure your motives are pure. That it isn’t revenge you seek.”

  Ruairc turned to stare out the window at the snowflakes once more, then turned back to face his aunt.

  “I swear to you, by all I hold sacred, if Morgana wishes to come back here, I will not stand in her way.I love her enough to let her have her freedom, if that is what she chooses.”

  “What if she chooses another man? After all, as the heir, all will seek her hand, where none would have troubled to before,” Agatha observed.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “Then I will have to let her go. I can’t live like a blind fool on empty hopes for the rest of my life, now can I? Maybe I’ve already lost her,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I have no way of clearing my name concerning Conor’s death.I cannot tell her where I was after I left her that night without breaking a confidence. I also can't help feeling hurt. She should have had more trust in me, believed me when I said appearances were deceiving.”

  “She was young, too apt to listen to others. Give her another chance. I think she'll recognise the true from the false now, after the passage of time, and the days and nights she has had alone here to search her own heart.”

  His expression was bleak as he stared back at her. “I hope you're right, for she needs to know I'm on her side. I do truly fear the worst. With my brothers Dermot and Brendan destroying the MacMahon clan, living in complete luxury while the people starve, they'll have very few scruples about moving against her. Morgana’s sister Aofa has done little for the past two years other than comb her hair and parade up and down in silk and brocade gowns,” Ruairc snorted in disgust.

  “Morgan let Aofa and her mother have anything. Morgana was allowed to run wild, was completely neglected, poor, with barely a change of clothes to her name. Conor of course got everything as the son and heir, and yet they were the best of friends."

  He sat back down across from his aunt in front of the fire. “When Conor died, the Maguires obeyed Conor’s wishes and chose Morgana as their leader. That old Morgan could never forgive, though he knew in his heart Aofa was useless other than as an ornament to grace some rich man’s table, provided she didn’t open her mouth and reveal her stupidity for all to see.”

  “That is somewhat overstating the case, my son. Aofa has more cunning, if not brains, than your give her credit for,” Agatha said astutely.

  “But I do agree with you, the way Morgana was neglected by her father was shameful. I can’t help thinking he will regret it one day. It was unfair of him to blame Morgana for her mother’s death. She was lucky to have her aunt raise her with Finn and Patrick, until she of course died.

  “And after Alice died, Morgan took you as foster son, and you never gave him a day’s trouble. You supported Morgana when she needed it, and were good to her, helped her blossom and thrive. The five of you grew strong and upright, straight in both mind and body, while Aofa sat in her silken parlor."

  She paused, then said hesitantly, "Ruairc, you do forgive me for...”

  Ruairc leaned forward over to take his aunt’s hand. “There was nothing to forgive. Once Uncle Sean died, you obeyed the higher calling you felt you had. As you said about my love for Morgana, if you care for someone, you support the choices they make, even if you don’t always agree with them. You were a fine mother to an orphaned boy. My only regret is that Dermot and Brendan weren’t fostered by Morgan as well, but instead were parcelled out to the O’Reilly clan.”

  “The family thought at the time that it would heal the rift between the MacMahons and O’Reillys, perhaps even with them and the Maguires. We all live so near one another. I can’t help feeling that it is pointless to raid and kill when we could gain more through cooperation,” Agatha sighed.

  “Old rivalries die hard, Aunt. And as I’ve said, other forces beyond our control are at work here. We have good land, and the best fisheries, which the MacMahons as well as O’Reillys would like to seize.”

  “Or, they can cut off your lines of communication with the rest of the country, except by sea, unless you're very careful,” the elderly nun remarked perceptively, causing Ruairc to stop to consider this idea, and frown.

  “You may have a point there. If something were to happen to our ships...”

  “Ruairc, may I remind you, you've only just returned from Dublin. I see by your use of the words 'we' and 'our' that your loyalties are clearly on the side of the Maguires. But by birth you are a MacMahon. In view of what happened two years ago, Morgan’s forgiveness or no, the rest of the sept may not be so accepting of your presence or interference. They might even think you're spying for your brothers, and are after Morgana for her land and wealth.”

  “Especially since my charming brothers are enforcing the dissolution of the monasteries in the MacMahon territories even as we speak,” Ruairc revealed.

  His aunt gasped and clutched her side as though she had been stabbed. "No!"

  “It's true, I'm afraid. Only one or two of the religious houses just on the border with the Maguire lands to the south to start with, but I fear it's only the beginning." He shook his head bitterly. "I’m sorry to say, I don’t know my own family any more. I certainly don’t know what will happen to our land in the future if this keeps up.”

  “I can't believe Dermot and Brendan would do such a thing!”

  “Greed is an excellent motive for many people’s behavior, as well you know,” Ruairc pointed out with a grimace.

  They both lapsed into silence, and Agatha sighed deeply. “I thank you for your candor, my son. Once again, I would warn you of what will happen if you take Morgana back to Lisleavan.”

  Ruairc sat down with a weary sigh, and shrugged. “I’m glad I've been able to open my heart to you, for it's cleared things in my own mind, speaking aloud thoughts and worries I couldn’t voice to others."

  "Such as?"

  “Honestly, the things I've seen and heard in the past few days since I came from Dublin go against all I have ever loved or believed in. My loyalty is ultimately to Morgana, but I have fears for my own people now that the MacMahons have been driven off their own lands, and English and Welsh mercenaries are put in their place.

  "I'll be completely candid with you, Aunt. I don’t think I'm strong enough to stop my brothers myself. But perhaps together, Morgana and I, and mayhap Finn and Patrick also, if they are willing, can prevent all we've known and loved from being swept aside."

  "How, my son?"

  He started to pace restlessly in front of the hearth. “My brothers are siding with the English against their own people, taking King Henry’s side in the divorce question for their own benefit. He wanted to marry Anne Boleyn for the sake of a son and heit, but it's allowing the entire Protestant Reformation to take on a whole new character.

  "I fear no good will come of any of this. It leaves us all in a dreadful position regarding Spain’s support for Katherine of Arragon and the princess Mary, and with the rest of the Catholic countries on the Continent. This can do the Maguires harm if only from the trade point of view. As for politics, well, who knows. But I have the feeling it's only be a matter of time before they move against the Maguires outright, and we need to be prepared."

  Agatha stared at him in disbelief. "But it's still only winter. The ground is saturated. And there is the planting--"

  He nodded. “Indeed. We have a little more time. Fortunately, Patrick and Finn are due back soon, one from the south and the other from Scotland. With Morgana coming home now, outright confrontation with my brothers can probably be avoided for the moment. But once the summer campaigning season starts, the Maguire and MacMahon clans could very well be at war."

&
nbsp; She crossed herself. “God forbid."

  "Amen."

  She reached out her hand to urge him to sit beside her. He left off his restless pacing in front of the fire to join her.

  "What will happen if Morgan dies? You say it is poison?” Agatha demanded.

  “Then Morgana is the heir, as Conor declared. No one else has put themselves forward. There's been no need, for Morgan was well up until recently. If he passes, it will be up to her if she decides to accept the position, or hand it over to Finn or Patrick. I would say though, that they would both be unwilling to accept. Though Morgana is only a woman, she is the pick of the whole clan for brains and skill.”

  “And what will happen if she accepts the clan’s vote of confidence and becomes the named heir?”

  Ruairc threw his hands wide in despair. “Then she will be in danger as tanaist of the sept, which is right back where this discussion started. I don’t have all the answers, Aunt Agatha. I can’t see into the future. All I know is that her father needs her now.”

  Ruairc began to pace the room once more, running his fingers through his thick black hair, his lustrous green eyes sparkling in the firelight.

  At length he declared. “I don’t know if she will trust me, or ever be able to love me again, but she did once, long ago, of that I'm sure. Perhaps in time she will again. But I can't break my confidence. Unless the person responsible tells her where I was on the day of Conor’s death, I must remain silent upon the subject.

  "But I give you my word, she is the only thing of value I cherish in this whole world. I will not allow her to be harmed. Nor will I give her up to the Church, or to another man, without a fight.”

  Morgana’s tap and entrance into the room prevented Agatha from making any reply. She walked up to the Mother Superior for a blessing.

  “My prayers are with you and your family, my dear," she said, resting her hands on Morgana's head. "The Lord will watch over you and those you love."

  Morgana felt a lump in her throat as she whispered, “I’ll be back soon, Mother.”

  Morgana felt her hand placed in Ruairc’s strong grip. The sensation was both entrapping, and oh so right, like she had been on a long journey, and had at last come home. She removed her fingers from his clasp gently, though her instinct made her want to jerk them away. She did not even look at him.

  He gritted his teeth, but schooled himself to be patient. The mistrust and suspicion of the past two years was not going to be wiped out in only a few minutes.

  Agatha said softly, “If I never see you again, Morgana, remember I will always be with you in spirit.”

  Ruairc saw his aunt’s face whiten, and he sat her down in a chair quickly.

  “You're not ill, are you, Aunt?” Ruairc whispered, as the icy grip of her gnarled old hand clutched at his arm.

  “Of course not, my son. But none of us can predict the future, now can we? It is all in the hands of God. Farewell to you both.

  "Ruairc, take her now, and go. Don’t come back unless she insists, and don’t argue,” Agatha added in an undertone as Ruairc bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek.

  Ruairc took Morgana by the hand once more. Oddly chastened by Agatha's words, she went along to the stables as meekly as a lamb.

  "Are you ready, Morgana?" he asked softly.

  He was linking his fingers together near the side of one of the saddled horses. She knew what he was asking. But there was a great deal more to his question than whether she would mount the steed.

  She smiled impishly to herself. Taking a few steps to the rear of the beast, she ran up and jumped, pushing off the beast's great rump with both hands, to land squarely in the saddle.

  Despite himself, Ruairc laughed. "Not even two years as a novice can tame your spirit, I see."

  "Nay, nor any man either," she said stiffly, gathering the reins. She thumped her heels into the horse's side and moved off, leaving him staring after her with a look of longing that was unmistakable.

  As was the joy in her soul as she headed out of the gates. Home! Morgana’s heart sang within her breast. I’m going home.

  She tried to tell herself that Ruairc being with her had nothing to do with the sensation, but all the same, as he settled his horse into an easy canter beside her, it was hard to forget the fact that he had been so much a part of her life for so many years that them being together had been like the uniting of two halves of a whole.

  But things changed. He had changed, she could see, taking in his rich clothes, so much more elegant than had been his wont, making him look far more the idle courtier than the rugged man of action she had known and loved. The years had been both kind and harsh to him, for while he looked more handsome and prosperous than ever, the expression in his eyes was of a man so haunted by the past, that she felt her icy distance thawing.

  He had suffered too, it was true. His life had to be one of guilt, torment and loss, for with Conor's death, he had lost his best friend and love of his life with one fatal stroke of his dagger.

  So then why had he done it? In a moment of passion?

  But he was not a stupid man. If he had never thought to be found out, why would he have left his dagger behind…

  All the old questions she had thought she had finally managed to put to rest came teeming back again, almost suffocating in their intensity.

  She pushed them to one side, forcing them out of her mind. She was not returning to her home for Ruairc's sake. She was going home to see her father. She would do well to remember her mission and the vows she was to take shortly. To ever go down the primrose path of dalliance with Ruairc, the man who had murdered her brother and abused everyone's trust, was a path absolutely forbidden to her by God and all Christian decency. She must never forget that, no matter how seductive his mere presence might be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The ride home to Lisleavan Castle was exhilarating despite being uneventful. The brisk wind which whipped through the valley from the Atlantic was invigorating, and the sheer pleasure of riding after two years was not lost upon her.

  There were other pleasures to be had as well. Though Morgana was naturally worried about her father, her mind drifted onto other subjects, one of which was the enigmatic man by her side. In some ways it seemed a lifetime ago that she and Ruairc had been in love, yet in others, as though it were only yesterday.

  Oddly, though Morgana had told herself over and over again in the past two years that she hated Ruairc, that she had had a lucky escape from marriage to him, the more she looked at him, the more she wondered why she had ever loathed and feared him.

  Ruairc was a stunning figure in his rust coloured velvet doublet and fawn riding breeches which fit him like a second skin. As his cloak rippled backwards in the frigid wind, his broad shoulders and strong arms bulged through the rich fabric. He still carried himself with the same noble assurance which had always made her proud to be by his side.

  He sat so quietly on his horse, gazing out at the landscape, taking it all in yet seeing nothing, that finally Morgana was moved to say gently, “I’m sure this is hard for you, Ruairc, and I'm sorry you had to come all this way for me. You could have sent one of the servants. There was no need to put yourself to such trouble.And I know how worried you are. You always loved my father. You being a man, you were far closer to him than I ever was.”

  “It was no trouble to come, I assure you, and as you say, I love Morgan. I'm glad to be of service to his family,” Ruairc said tonelessly.

  As he rode further along down the track, he continued to try to piece together his aunt’s odd behavior. He felt a chill inside that had naught to do with the arctic weather, for he knew his aunt had always possessed the gift of second sight. She had warned Ruairc not to come back. Was Morgana in so much danger that she could be waylaid on the road and kidnapped or killed?

  It was a possibility he was forced to recognise, if his assumptions about the poisoning of Morgan Maguire were correct.

  Ruairc appeared to be quiet and pensive to
Morgana, but all the while he was looking behind every tree and shrub for signs of an ambush.

  Or perhaps his aunt had meant that Morgana would not be going back to take her vows in a fortnight? That Morgan would die, and she would become heir?

  “I said, Ruairc, for the third time, you haven’t told me what's wrong with Father. Perhaps it's a simple chill, and you are just making a fuss over nothing?”

  Morgana’s unusually impatient tone intruded upon his thoughts. Despite her inward warnings to be wary of her former fiance's ample charms, she had grown piqued at having been so completely ignored for so many miles.

  Ruairc grabbed her bridle angrily, forcing the horse to a standstill.

  “I know you mistrust me, but this is not a ploy on my part to see you. Nor is your father suffering from a simple chill,” Ruairc growled. “I was hoping to avoid telling you this, but you have asked for the truth, and that I have always told you.Morgana, I am certain someone has been trying to poison him for the last few weeks. In fact, the assassin very nearly succeeded in killing him a fortnight ago.”