The Faithful Heart

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  Patrick finally spoke up, and said, “I’m sorry, Ruairc, but the nun who came to warn us said you were responsible for the raid on the convent. You can see why Morgana might be a might apprehensive about your suggestion that we go off the find a pile of weapons that might not even exist.”

  Ruairc stared at the auburn-haired woman who had suddenly become a stranger to him once more.

  “I've been with Anna from the inn all this time, tracking the men through the glens and mountain passes. Ride over there if you don’t believe me!”

  “Very convenient, since MacMahons are probably still lurking around there to raid the precious vessels,” Finn sneered.

  The three cousins looked long and hard at Ruairc, and the Patrick and Finn turned to Morgana. “It’s your decision, Morgana.”

  “Start getting some of the men together, and close all the gates,” Morgana commanded flatly, as she returned to her bedroom and yanked open her trunk.

  In minutes she had dressed in her masculine clothing once more, and with her sword firmly secured around her waist, she gathered up her discarded habit into a small bundle, took up her cloak, and marched down the stairs.

  The final decision now made, there would be no going back. She could not allow her mixed feelings about Ruairc cloud her judgment in any way.

  “Patrick, Finn, bring our guest here to the dungeon, while I muster the men.”

  “Morgana, you can’t possibly think I would ever betray you! Not after all we mean to each other! Let me come with you. Let me help!” Ruairc protested.

  "Don't you see, I can't trust a word you say any more when you—"

  "Then ask Mary. She brought Anna to your room that night. You were still asleep."

  Her two cousins stared at her.

  "I went out in the hall, heard her tale, and told Mary to tell you as soon as you woke that I had gone with her to stop the weapons from reaching my brothers."

  Ruairc would have said more, but Finn grabbed him and smashed him mightily with his fist when he refused to go quietly.

  Morgana winced, her emotions in complete turmoil. “Mary never said a word."

  He stared at her in fury and disbelief. "For God's sake, love, who are you going to trust, her or me? I love you!"

  She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ruairc but I can’t afford to trust anyone. This is war, and it's going to be on my terms from now on.”

  "Damn it, Morgana, you have to believe me! I love you! I would never—"

  Ruairc was dragged away kicking and screaming while Morgana went outside to gather men and weapons. She headed to Darkie's stall, and saddled him herself while the two cousins issued orders.

  Patrick and Finn were all for coming with her, but Morgana refused firmly.

  “No, wait until I have gone, and then let Ruairc out to supervise the garrison. Tell him I order him not to follow me under any circumstances, is that clear? Send messages to Tulach, Ma Niadh, and Cullen to get the villages cleared and lie low. No movement, no lights. If they do head that way, I want them to think the castles are still deserted.”

  “But you can’t go with only a handful of men!” Finn protested.

  “The MacMahons want to draw me out, and this is the only way to discover their plans. Stay here, and Owen or one of the other men will bring you word if anything happens to me,” Morgana ordered.

  She leapt into the saddle, and thundered down the road towards Kilgarven at the head of her troop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Morgana rode towards the convent like one possessed, but as she neared Kilgarven, she had the men halt and conceal themselves in the woods. There were too many unanswered questions in the back of her mind, but fanciful, incredible though it seemed, she began to believe she had found the key to the puzzle.

  “Owen, Fintan, ride up to the gates and ask for water. Tell them you've ridden from Clogher and you and your mount are thirsty because of the heat. Come back and tell me who answers the door.”

  “But all the nuns are dead, Sister Joan said so,” Owen protested.

  “I see some large mounds over there, which look like burial pits. Why would they slaughter all the nuns and then bury them? Don’t argue, just do it now,” Morgana commanded.

  The men rode on ahead.

  Ten minutes later they returned with the incredible news which shocked everyone except Morgana.

  “It was your sister Aofa, dressed in a habit. We couldn't see her face, but we knew the voice without a doubt. She handed out a bucket of water, but said that since they were a closed order, she couldn’t let us in,” Fintan reported back.

  “What on earth is she doing here?”Owen said.

  Morgana looked from one to the other, then knelt and began to sketch on the ground with a stick. “The one question which has preyed on my mind is why the dissolution of the two monasteries nearest our border with the MacMahons, and why this convent.

  “The reasons become clear if we stop to consider all the difficulties we’ve had with looking after our men. Where else could you feed and house hundreds of men except a place designed for hundreds of residents?”

  “You mean they killed the nuns and priests, or chased them away, in order to bring troops in here?” Fintan gasped.

  “And why steal our ships, our Irish-built ships only?” Morgana posed the question.

  Owen’s eyes lit up. “To weaken us, obviously, but also because if anything were to go wrong with the shipments of arms and soldiers, we would take the blame.”

  “But who are they? Where are they coming from?” Fintan asked.

  “My guess is that they have to be Spanish, since they only wanted to take my Irish ships. Plus, the gowns and treasures, all Spanish made, or coming through the Spanish Netherlands would point there as well. We know how many people have been offended by the royal divorce and shcked by the dissolution of the monasteries. I think they are taking advantage of the situation as an excuse for plunder, and also to conceal their real ultimate goal. I believe they have every intention of trying to overthrow King Henry and place Princess Mary on the throne of England.”

  “My God, we have to warn Lisleavan!” Owen gasped.

  “That’s right, you go on back.I’m going in,” Morgana said firmly.

  “Are you mad? They’ll surely kill you!” Owen protested vehemently.

  “They won't kill me when I could be valuable to them as a hostage. Plus, if they do take me, it will buy us some time,” Morgana argued hurriedly. “They will think we're leaderless, and so will consider their task an easy one. They might get too sure of themselves and make an error in judgment.Besides, I need to find out if the Spanish have arrived yet, and if not, when they are going to come. Send to Belleek and Assaroe and on to Sligo to warn the O’Donnells and O’Connors not to let any ships through. Tell Tiarnach O’Connor to send to Galway to warn of an invasion plot, and make sure they emphasise it is the MacMahons who are responsible.”

  “You can’t go in there!” Owen argued again.

  “Don’t you see, it's the perfect plan? If we fight the Spanish, we'll be slaughtered by the hundreds, and the MacMahons can try to kill us all off. If the invasion succeeds, one way or the other we will be overrun.

  “And even if the invasions fails, we will still be accused of inviting the Spanish here because our ships were used, and we shall be attainted of treason. But they don’t know we have discovered their plans with the help of Ruairc and Anna. Nor can they be aware of the fact that Sister Joan escaped the slaughter to warn us.

  “There's still time to prepare, but I must go in there to give us as much time as possible. Tell Finn and Patrick everything, do you understand?” Morgana argued as she stripped off her doublet and yanked her habit over her head and down over her men’s clothes.

  “Here, take my sword, Owen. Make sure you look after it. I’ll be back for it soon, I promise.” Morgana grinned, and hope she at least sounded confident.

  She pulled her coif over her hair and Owen hugged her.

  �
�Good luck, and God keep you,” he murmured.

  Fintan and one of the other men lingered in the woods to observe Morgana’s fate, while the rest rode through the villages in twos and threes to look for any signs of survivors, and then returned to Lisleavan.

  Morgana waited quietly, observing how many armed men seemed to be around the precincts of the convent, and then she mounted her horse and boldly rode to the convent gates. She rapped on the door sharply, and said cheerfully, “Let me in, Sister Martha. It’s me, Sister Attracta.”

  The door opened, but no one appeared. Taking a deep breath, Morgana pushed the portal open wide and stepped in. Her eyes took a short time to adjust to the darkness of the cloister, but she could see piles of weapons and kegs of powder, and several dark-skinned men in leather jerkins supervising the storage of their supplies.

  Suddenly the door slammed shut behind her, and Morgana turned to face the glittering sapphire eyes of her sister.

  “You must be a new novice.” Morgana smiled, though her face felt as though it would crack. “I’m Sister Attracta. Pleased to meet you.”

  Aofa slapped her face soundly with the back of her hand, and then shouted, “Kill her!”

  The Spanish men storing the armaments paused in astonishment, for unlike the MacMahon’s English mercenaries, they were unwilling to kill helpless nuns.

  “She is a holy woman, we cannot!” one of the men argued in broken English.

  Aofa grabbed his dagger, and hissed, “In that case I’ll do it myself, you miserable cur.”

  But Morgana parried the blow, and watched anxiously as she saw Dermot MacMahon enter the cloister. He grabbed Aofa from behind and roughly removed the dagger from her grasp.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Aofa!” Dermot demanded angrily.

  “It’s not a nun, it’s Morgana. Kill her now!” Aofa screamed hysterically.

  “I know who it is. Shut up!” Dermot spat as he shoved Aofa out of his way so roughly, she hit the wall.

  “Well, well.” Dermot smiled as he approached her, his eyes lighting up as he drew closer. He tugged off her coif to expose her long fall of auburn hair.

  “You certainly have turned out to be a lovely young woman, Morgana,” he murmured admiringly, as he fingered her silky hair and circled her like a cat stalking its prey.

  Dermot was indeed very much like Ruairc, only his eyes, golden instead of green, showed a cynicism and bleary eyed dissipation that Morgana had always found repellent.

  The youngest of the three brothers, Brendan, came in from another door and said, “The carts are taking a terribly long time! They should all have been here by now. The Spanish should be landing any day!”

  Too late Brendan spotted Morgana, and gasped.He was not as tall or as broad as Ruairc, and his hair was a very dark brown rather than ebony. His pale blue eyes, like a wolf’s, eventually registered Morgana’s identity.

  “How did she get here?” Brendan gasped.

  “It doesn’t matter!” Aofa hissed. “The point is she knows too much.Kill her now, that’s what I say. Then I can return to Lisleavan and claim the succession, and we can be married, Dermot.”

  Dermot scowled darkly. “You make it sound so simple, Aofa, but I'm far more cautious and prudent. Our plans have waited for two years. Surely we can wait a little longer.First there are some things I need to know.Where is my brother Ruairc?”

  “He’s gone back to Dublin, to the earl of Kildare’s household where he has worked for the past two years,” Morgana lied desperately.

  Dermot and Brendan both broke into uproarious laughter.

  Aofa sulked and threw herself down on a bench as she complained petulantly, “I don’t see what is so funny!”

  “The Earl’s son, Silken Thomas, has resigned all the titles and offices he holds through the English crown, and openly rebelled. Even as we speak, he is besieging Dublin castle, and his men are riding through the streets of the city murdering and pillaging,” Dermot informed the two astonished women.

  “We just learned of this from a special messenger sent by the O’Reillys down south. This is perfect. If our plans don’t succeed, we can blame all of this on Ruairc.”

  Brendan smiled evilly. “But our plans will succeed.”

  “You look extremely puzzled, my dear Morgana. Trust me, all will be revealed in the fullness of time,” Dermot said, as he escorted her over to a bench and pushed her down onto it with one firm hand on her shoulder.

  “Now, Patrick and Finn, where are they?” he demanded.

  “The last I heard, they were off to Scotland and Spain to trade," she lied again.

  “Perfect, perfect,” Dermot murmured, as he began to caress Morgana’s petal soft cheek.

  Aofa shrieked, “So nothing stands in our way except her! Kill her, kill her now!”

  Dermot turned to Aofa and snapped, “I take no orders from any woman, is that clear? So keep a civil tongue in your head! I’ve used you in the past as the instrument, the tool of my ambition. But with Morgana here now, everything has changed.”

  Aofa snatched up a long staff that lay near her hand, and with a swinging blow she smashed it into Morgana’s face before she could get her hand up high enough to deflect the blow. Morgana flew backwards off the bench, and her head hit the floor with a sickening thud.

  Dermot held Aofa’s struggling form as Brendan knelt over Morgana. She could feel a warm wet stickiness at the back of her head, and knew it was best to pretend she was more badly injured than she really was to catch them off guard. She made her eyes roll up into the back of her head, and lay completely still.

  “How is she?” Dermot asked.

  “The fall knocked her out, damn it. She needs to be seen to,” Brendan replied as he felt along the line of her throbbing jaw to see if it were broken.

  “It’s in one piece, but she won’t be able to eat or speak for some time. Get that she-cat the hell out of here,” Brendan scolded, his dislike for Aofa evident in his tone.

  “Go down the kitchen, woman, and start preparing some food for the men. And if it isn’t any more edible than the last burnt mess you made, you’ll get the same treatment you just gave to your sister!” Dermot barked, as he grabbed Aofa and threw half the length of the cloister.

  She landed heavily on both her knees and gasped. Then she struggled to her feet and limped away, uttering curses Morgana was sure had never been heard in the peaceful convent before.

  “What are we going to do with Morgana? I mean, there’s no sense in patching her up if you just want to kill her,” Brendan remarked quietly, still sounding displeased.

  “No, you’re quite right about that, Brother. And while I know Aofa desperately wants to kill her, I have a feeling this lovely little woman could solve all our problems,” Dermot replied thoughtfully.

  “But you’re meant to be marrying Aofa, Morgan’s favourite daughter, to get hold of the succession. Wouldn’t Morgana just be in the way?”

  “Let’s be honest here, shall we? Can you seriously believe the Maguires would let Aofa be chieftain of the clan? She may have been that old fool's favorite, but everyone knows she ran the clan. If Morgana were to marry one of us now, the story would be very different.”

  “But she loves Ruairc, or did love him. She would never agree to wed either of us, even were I willing.”

  “All that changed when we killed Conor, with Aofa’s help, of course. She hates him now. He left after Morgan died. They even blamed him for poisoning the old coot. Aofa did her job well there. And even if she did still care for him, Ruairc’s in Dublin. He is far away, and probably wouldn’t help her even if he were here, not after the way Morgana has treated him.

  "No, you patch Morgana up, and I’ll take her back to Carrickdoo, to see if I can persuade her to see sense and marry me.”

  “Marry you! But Aofa...” Brendan started to protest.

  “Can marry you instead.It can be a double alliance which will turn our grip on the Maguire lands into a stranglehold,” Dermot gloa
ted.

  “You must be out of your mind, Dermot! I have no intention of marrying that whining bitch of a whore...”

  “You will do as you are told, little brother. Don’t worry about your conjugal duties, since Morgana and I as heads of the two clans will be required to produce the heirs, something I am looking forward to enormously.” Dermot smirked.

  “Damn it, Dermot MacMahon, you can’t fob off your cast-off doxy on me! Aofa’s offered herself to me dozens of times over the last few years, but never once have I been tempted. Nothing, not even all the Maguire lands, could prevail upon me to take her to wife. Let me have Morgana, and all will be settled satisfactorily between us,” Brendan growled, as he lifted Morgana into his arms and went to find a suitable chamber for her.