Morgana’s eyes widened, and she soothed her horse as she felt him grow restless under Ruairc’s restraint.
“Shall we get down and discuss this matter further?” she offered, sufficiently chastened by Ruairc’s grim revelations.
“I’d just as soon get back straight away, if it’s all the same to you,” Ruairc replied quickly, scanning the trees expertly for any sign of the enemy.
Morgana nodded, and rode her mount closer to Ruairc's so they could talk more easily. “Tell me what’s been happening, Ruairc,” she pleaded, risking using his name gently for the first time.
Despite the two year separation, she could still read him like a book. She knew why he was so anxious to get back. She knew now as well that Ruairc was not trying to trick her. Nor was he exaggerating the seriousness of the situation.
“I was only summoned to Lisleavan last week, and arrived the night before last, so I know little other than what your father told me, and what I’ve seen with my own eyes. I know from the suspicious looks you’ve been casting in my direction that you don’t trust me. But I swear to you, I would never wish any harm upon your father or you. Someone has been trying to poison him. He thought he’d fooled them, by preparing food for himself with his own hands, but he's fallen ill again, and is getting weaker by the minute.
“I’m not going to embarrass us both by begging for you to see the truth about me after two long years. I wouldn’t waste my breath. I only hope you're grown up enough now to realise the difference between friend and foe.”
“Ruairc, I...”
“There is no time to argue now, a stor. We must press on. I’d rather not be out after nightfall.”
Ruairc galloped on ahead of her, so that Morgana had little choice but to spur her horse or be left far behind. But her heart gave a little leap which had nothing to do with the brisk pace of her mount. He had called her a stor, beloved, just as he had always done. He still cared, even after all she had said and done! Her stomach lurched as she watched him get further and further away from her.
“Ruairc! Ruairc! Wait for me!”
“I always have, Morgana, and I always will,” Ruairc called over his shoulder, his face like granite.
Morgana blushed furiously, and rode on ahead to conceal her confusion from him. Ruairc was right, of course. Nothing had changed in the past two years. He had done nothing to prove his innocence with regard to the murder of her brother. But then why was she so pleased to see him?
Because you still love him, no matter what he’s done, a treacherous little voice whispered inside her head. Every time Morgana looked at Ruairc, touched him, her knees went weak. It took every bit of her enormous willpower to prevent herself from succumbing to her tumultuous longings.
As she rode on, she deliberately tortured herself with the picture of her brother’s mutilated body which remained etched in her brain even after all that time in order to stir up a hatred for Ruairc she often didn’t really feel.
And yet, her religious training told her she must not hate or seek revenge, but turn the other cheek. Why did seeing Ruairc always make her utterly confused about everything?
She found herself going over the same agonising questions in a much more rational frame of mind than ever before. What could ever have provoked Ruairc to murder Conor so foully? As the second son of the chief of the MacMahons, he had had a fair sized property of his own, so could gain have been the sole motive? Surely if he had wanted the Maguire chieftainship, he should have married her first, and then killed Conor.
Had there been a personal or family insult? Worse still, had Conor done something to harm the Maguire clan, and Ruairc had discovered it and taken matters into his own hands?
Certainly he had not gained anything from the death, at least not immediately. For though Ruairc had not been formally charged, he had been sent packing by the clan, who had united to ostracise him. Then his greedy brothers Dermot and Brendan had used the opportunity to disgrace him in the eyes of the MacMahons and take all his lands and property for themselves.
Yet seemingly he had prospered in the past two years, for his riding clothes were rich, and his mount fine enough for a king’s stables, Morgana observed, as she caught up to him.
Once again, Ruairc detected her assessing look, and smiled bitterly. “I've been working for the Earl of Kildare in Dublin these last two years, and have prospered in trade and favors at the English-run court. By favours I mean I have saved the Earl’s life and his son’s on several occasions, and thus he has given me material reward.
"His son is very fond of good clothes. In fact,they call him Silken Thomas. I wear this finery, ride this horse, only as a tribute to the generosity of my patron, not as a sign of wealth. I’ll show you the scars I got in exchange for all this frippery if you like.”
Morgana coloured again, but remained silent, digesting all Ruairc had told her. If he had not been after money and wealth, what could he possibly have stood to gain by killing Conor, apart from she herself as a bride?
Had that been the cause? Had Ruairc been so incensed at her father’s unjust treatment of her for so many years that he had unfairly blamed Conor for being the apple of his father’s eye?
She looked over at her companion wistfully. No. He was always an advocate of justice and a great warrior, but he was no cold-blooded killer.
And Ruairc and Morgan had been as close as could be considering they were not of one family. Moreover, Ruairc had known full well that she had idolised her elder brother. If anyone was to have been got rid of, it would have been her half-sister Aofa!
Morgana pushed that thought to one side as uncharitable. It wasn’t the girl’s fault she was stupid and simpering, weak of character, squeamish at the sight of blood or illness, or that she had had a lioness for a mother.
No, Conor was dead, and the fact remained that his murderer had gone unpunished. Despite two years of thinking she hated Ruairc, one glimpse of him filled her with all the old yearnings to be one flesh with him.
But things had changed. She had changed. Morgana had spent the past two years of her novitiate in peace and harmony with the world, and was unwilling to revert back to her former wild state. She was a woman now, eighteen, and had to let reason rather than impulse be her guide.
Someone had killed her brother. According to Ruairc, someone was now trying to poison her father. Could they be one and the same person? If so, that left out Ruairc, for he had been far away in Dublin. Patrick and Finn were also innocent, for they had been away trading on the high seas at the time her brother had been killed, and they were two such solid, reliable young men, the thought of them hiring anyone else to do it was impossible.
Who would gain? Who had gained from Conor’s death? As Morgana rode the rest of the way home, no satisfactory answer presented itself. But she needed to find one soon, before it was too late.
CHAPTER FOUR
All thoughts of the past and Conor's death fled when Morgana was confronted by the sight of her beloved castle, and her dying father. The shock would have felled a stronger woman. As it was, Morgana was grateful for Ruairc's strong presence, willing to lend support but not interfere.
The castle and surrounds looked woefully neglected, and once inside her former home, Morgana saw that the rooms were unswept, and dark in the growing twilight, with no candles to light the way.
Ruairc led her to a tiny sickroom, where her father lay on the bed, a gaunt skeleton who stretched one bony claw towards her in supplication, while clutching Ruairc’s arm with the other hand.
“My God, Father! Who has done this to you!” Morgana wept as she crossed herself, all past anger forgotten at the sight of the wretched man’s extreme suffering.
“Here, Morgan, Aunt Agatha has sent you some food and cordials. Try to eat and drink a little,” Ruairc urged softly.
Morgana eyed Ruairc suspiciously, but her father took the small bundle greedily, and put one of the small coloured bottles to his parched lips.
Though he could m
anage only a little before a pang halted him, he ate hungrily. When he was finished, he lay back exhausted, and told Morgana to wrap up the food and leave it under the bed.
“Make sure, Morgana, you are given the keys to the household. You must take every single one, and I want all of my chambers locked, with a guard posted at every door. No one but you and Ruairc have permission to enter either those rooms or this room,” Morgan Maguire commanded.
“Patrick and Finn are coming,” Ruairc reminded him quietly. "They'll be home from their trade runs soon."
“Ah yes, send them to me as soon as they arrive, Ruairc, but no one else. Promise me, son, you will see to this!” the old man begged, becoming more and more agitated.
“I promise, Father.All shall be as you wish. Rest now,” Ruairc soothed, brushing the few remaining silver hairs on the old man’s head away from his brow, and pulling up the coverlet over his bony chest.
Morgan took Ruairc’s hand in his own for a few moments, and then the younger man stooped to kiss his foster father. Ruairc gave Morgana a brief look which she could not interpret, and left the room.
Once they were alone, Morgana gasped, “Oh, Father, what has been happening here? Why did you not send for me sooner?”
“Morgana, my child, trust no one but Ruairc, and your cousins when they arrive. Do you understand me! No one!” Morgan commanded abruptly.
“Sush, Father, don’t upset yourself. I promise, but you must tell me what is wrong here.”
“A month ago, I fell ill.The cooks were bribed to poison me, though they had no notion of who paid them. A man in a cloak was all they managed to reveal, before they were murdered in the dungeon. Their throats were slit. I tried to send for you several times, but obviously the messages never got through.”
“I never received any word,” Morgana said, and shook her head sadly. "I would have come at once if only I had known."
“I thought perhaps you had already taken your vows, were no longer part of the clan.”
“Really, Father, surely you must know that if I had received word of you illness, nothing would have stopped me, not even my vows!”
“Aye, Daughter, I know that now, but I would not have blamed you for ignoring my summons. I have much cause to be sorry for the way I have treated you all these years,” the old man rasped, as a coughing fit choked him.
“Save your strength, Father. Don’t speak of things which are not important.The point is, I am here now to help you.”
“Aye, and we must start making plans. I have been waiting for you. I have not known what to do for the best, with the boys being away as well, but the succession is all important, Morgana. You could hold the place as tanaist, and even be chief, even as a nun, but with no children to carry on the line, it might cause bitter squabbling.”
Morgana started to pull her hand away, and the old man, sensing her withdrawal, clung on, and pleaded, “You must listen!You are the one! It is your destiny!”
“I make my own destiny, Father,” Morgana argued.
“God decides in the end, but I have a feeling the puppetmaster is closer to us than the good Lord,” Morgan sighed, turning his face toward the window.
“How did you survive this long, and get a message to Ruairc?” Morgana asked, trying to win back his attention.
“I began to feed myself from the vegetable patches, hid the food in the stores, and got several men from the village below to take messages. At least the one to Ruairc got through, but I was unsure of the others, until Ruairc came, and sent further messages himself to Patrick and Finn.
“But then I grew progressively worse, so that I couldn’t get downstairs. I can’t understand it, I’ve been so careful!But I now know I am dying. I wanted to see you one last time before the end, to tell you how sorry I am, and to beg you to forgive Ruairc, for he is innocent of your brother’s murder.”
Morgana removed her hand entirely from her father’s icy grip, and moved over to the window. “Father, all this is pointless.Is this what he's told you while he’s been here?”
“Ruairc has said nothing. You know he is far too proud to ever stoop so far as to defend himself against the accusations levelled at him. Nor was there ever any concrete proof against him, only circumstantial. No, he would not beg or coerce me into taking his part. It is I who know Ruairc to be innocent. I am only sorry I never spoke out before. He could not have killed your brother, Morgana, because the timing was all wrong from the time of the death until the time of the discovery of the body. He was on an errand for me away from here at the time that Conor was murdered. Then he was visiting with you when he came back. Shortly after he left, Conor's body was supposedly discovered."
"An errand? What sort? And how can you know all this--"
He ignored her burning questions. “In my grief I believed in appearances rather than facts. I thought he had become greedy, and even if he had not killed Conor with his own hands, had perhaps suborned someone to do it while he was away, the better to seem innocent.
"I now realise how much Ruairc has been hurt by all of this, and of course he is innocent of any attempt to poison me. I should have trusted the two of you more,” Morgan admitted with a rueful sigh.
“What do you mean, Father! Why would you mistrust me?” she gasped.
He looked at her sadly. “I resented you for your mother’s death, and even more for yourself. I can tell you now that your mother’s death was not your fault. She knew she had a growth, but wished to spare me the knowledge that we had only a short time left with each other. The fact that she died when you were born was nothing to do with you, and I humbly ask for your forgiveness.
“But even knowing the truth all these years, I have treated you cruelly, and that is even more unforgivable. I deliberately blinded myself to the faults of others, so willing was I to find fault with you. I was angered by the fact that every day, I could see you growing more and more like me."
The skeletal old man shook his head, and reached for her shoulder to rest one bony claw on it for a brief moment.
“Conor was the heir, I know, but he was like his mother, soft and dreamy, impractical. I was not blind. All the ideas, organisation, hard work and dedication to the family and our land was yours, and yet you were a mere woman. It was hurt pride on my part, and my cruelty was a test I put you through. I would not have blamed you for hating me and Conor, since he had all, and you nothing. You would not even have had any clothes on your back if my second wife had had her way.
"But you were resourceful. I know you managed to make your own clothes yourself with the scraps Conor and Aofa had no use for,” Morgan recalled with a bitter pang.
“How could I possibly hate you?” Morgana protested. “You are my father. I loved you, and worshipped Conor, though as you say, I often worried about how weak he was in the brain, though his body was strong,” Morgana sniffed. “I would never have harmed him. Surely you realise that now?”
“Nor would Ruairc.Surely you realise that now, Morgana. He is an honourable man, and has been the son I have always wanted, just as you have been, though fate decreed you to be a woman.
"Please, Morgana, it is too late for me to atone for all my sins, but try to forgive Ruairc’s stiff-necked pride. He has not begged or pleaded with you concerning his undoubted innocence because you have wounded him so badly. There can be no love without honesty, trust and respect. You have failed him on all three counts, just as I have failed you.”
“It’s too late, Father. Even if all you say is true, I must go back to the convent to take my vows,” Morgana maintained.
He shook his head. “It’s never too late, if you both love each other, and I am certain you. But more important that your love for one another, I also trust you and Ruairc to do what is right for the clan."
A fit of coughing wracked him then, so that she reached for the parcel from under the bed and gave him more of Agatha's special cordial until he was able to breathe again.
When he was able to speak once more, he said, "I k
now what you've seen on the way up here to visit me. It has been a disastrous two years, with poor harvests, and many ships laden with rich cargoes lost at sea.
"I blame myself, for since Conor’s death and your departure for the convent, I have lost the will to fight. We have had a terrible run of bad luck, either no rain or flooding, dead and missing cattle....” Morgan trailed off, his strength ebbing.
Morgana’s mind wandered, fear and doubt creeping in.There was something very wrong here at Lisleavan, and not just concerning her father being ill.
The old man stirred feebly, and beseeched, “You must do your duty. Forgive Ruairc, and unite the clan. Help me if you can, but I fear it will be all over with me soon.”
The Faithful Heart Page 4
