Besieged

by Bertrice Small

  Above the two women the wind filled the canvas of the great sailing ship, ruffling it with a faint booming sound. The salt spray faintly misted their lips, and the air was damp with the scent of the sea.

  "Why do the Catholics and Protestants fight, Mama?" Fortune asked her parent. "Do we not all worship the same God?"

  "Aye, poppet, we do," Jasmine answered, "but the churches have become bases of power for men very much like governments and kings are bases of power. Unfortunately power is never quite enough. Men who have it always want more. To have power you must have a hold on the hearts and minds of the people. God is a most powerful weapon. The churches use that weapon to intimidate the people. Each wants his way of worship to be the right way, the only way. So they fight each other, killing, they believe, in God's name, convinced that they are right because they do.

  "My father, your grandfather, the Grande Mughal Akbar, long ago brought representatives of all the world's religions into his court. For years they argued with one another about the nature of God, the proper way to worship, and why each was right in his thinking, and the others all wrong. While my father tolerated them, and listened to them with much interest, in the end he founded his own personal religion, but no one other than he was asked to follow it. Faith, my dearest, is a matter between you and God alone. Let no one tell you otherwise."

  "So men use God to pursue their own ends, Mama," Fortune said thoughtfully. "I think it very wicked."

  "It is," came the reply. "I have raised you to be tolerant of all people and faiths, poppet. Do not allow anyone to change you," Jasmine advised her daughter.

  "I won't," Fortune said firmly.

  "If you fall in love, you may be influenced by your lover," her mother said.

  "I will never fall in love, then," Fortune replied quietly. "Most men today are not, from my small observation, like my stepfather. He respects you, and listens to your counsel. That is the kind of man I would marry, Mama. I hope William Devers is like that."

  "Your father respects me because I have made him respect me, but as for listening to my counsel, he may listen, but seldom takes my advice. Men are stubborn that way, Fortune. You must learn to work around them in order to get things done," Jasmine said with a smile.

  "I have seen you wheedle Papa," Fortune replied with a rich chuckle. "When we were small, India and I used to wager how long it would take you to get him to do your bidding."

  "Did you?" Jasmine said dryly. "Which of you won the most often?"

  "I did," Fortune answered a trifle smugly. "India was always in too much of a hurry to win. I, however, bided my time, as did you, Mama. Patience can truly be a virtue when dealing with a man."

  Jasmine laughed aloud yet once again. She caressed her daughter's cheek tenderly. "I never realized you were such a wise child, Fortune," she said, chuckling. "I fear William Devers may have more of a woman than he is anticipating."

  "The only thing William Devers is anticipating is my dowry," Fortune said sharply. "He will get quite a surprise when he learns that I intend keeping my own wealth. He may not be willing to have such a girl for a wife, Mama."

  "Then he will be a fool," came the answer.

  "Who will be a fool?" James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, joined his wife and stepdaughter at the ship's rail.

  "Oh, we were just speaking of men," Fortune said airily.

  " 'Tis nae particularly flattering, lassie," the duke answered. "Are ye excited, my pretty? In just a short time, a few days at the most, ye'll meet the young man who will probably become yer husband."

  "We will see," Fortune said quietly.

  James Leslie drew a slow, deep breath. What was it about his stepdaughters? He had raised them since they were little girls, and they had, for the most part, been amenable lasses until it came to the matter of marriage. Still, he remembered his breach with the eldest, India, only just healed. He had promised India that he would not doubt any of his children ever again. It was a promise he meant to keep. "Aye, yer right, lass. Yer right. We will see. Why the young fellow could turn out to be a terrible dunce, and I'll nae hae my lass wed wi a fool, or a villain," the duke said.

  Jasmine Leslie smiled. She had seen the look in her husband's eye, and knew his patience was being tried. He had done the right thing, however. Perhaps it was possible to teach an old dog new tricks.

  "We had best go to our cabin, poppet," the duchess said, "and see if all is in readiness for the remainder of our trip."

  "Let me stay, Mama, and continue to view the land," Fortune pleaded prettily.

  "Very well," Jasmine said, and taking her husband's hand drew him to her side. "She wants to be alone, Jemmie."

  He nodded, and together they left the main deck of the vessel.

  Fortune continued to lean against the ship's railing lost in thought. This was the land of her birth, yet she had been but a few months old when she had left it. Ireland meant naught to her at all. It was the name of a place. Nothing more. What was it really like? And what was Maguire's Ford like? The castle that was to be hers was not large, her mother had said. It was called Erne Rock, and was set on the lough. Mama said it was a sweet place; that she and Rowan Lindley had been happy there. Fortune's brow furrowed. Could she really be happy in the place where her father had been so brutally murdered? The father she had never known because he had died shortly after she had been conceived.

  She had felt his absence her entire life. How often when she stayed at her elder brother Henry's seat at Cadby had she sought out the portrait of Rowan Lindley that hung in the gallery of the house? Tall and big-boned, Rowan Lindley had a square jaw with a deep cleft in its center with a dimple. His hair was tawny and his eyes were golden in color. He carried himself with a faint arrogance, natural to a man whose family had held the same lands since before the time of the Norman conquest. Henry Lindley resembled his father in features, but India, a mix of both her parents, had his famous eyes. Fortune loved the portrait of Rowan Lindley. She drank it in each time she saw it as if she might gain something of her father.

  She didn't look like him at all, or her mother either. There was nothing in her that she might say was him. She had her great-grandmother de Marisco's blue-green eyes, and her great-great-grandmother O'Malley's flaming red hair, they told her. Her grandmother Gordon always noted that Fortune was the duck in the swan's nest with her pale skin and wild pate. Fortune smiled to herself. She wondered what William Devers looked like, and if she wed him what their children would look like.

  A light rain began to fall, and Fortune drew her cloak more tightly about her. She had heard it said that it rained easily in Ireland, yet the sun would be out the next minute. Looking up she saw the clouds scudding across the sky, yet here and there there were patches of blue. She laughed, deciding that she liked it. Then the sun burst forth, turning the morning bright and faintly warm. The ship moved more slowly now, its sails being trimmed as it glided toward its dockage. Usually ships anchored in the bay, but they would dock today because of the unusual amount of luggage belonging to Lady Fortune Lindley.

  As the vessel skid into its berth, and the sailors leapt forth onto the dock to make the ship fast, Fortune saw a tall gentleman standing and watching. She wondered who he was. He was dressed very simply in dark breeches, a doeskin sleeveless doublet with staghorn buttons, a white linen shirt, and fine leather boots. His head was bare, and she noted his hair was almost as bright as her own. Well, Fortune thought, at least I won't stand out so much any longer if this fellow is about. The gentleman stood next to a large traveling coach to which were attached six fine chestnut horses. Fortune noted with pleasure that the coach horses were matched. Since the ship they had traveled upon belonged to her family, and the dock was privately held by them, she knew the coach belonged to them too.

  "Why it's Rory Maguire! He has come to meet us. How absolutely wonderful!" Jasmine was by her daughter's side again. She waved quite enthusiastically. "Rory! Rory Maguire!"

  He had seen her come to the rail to
stand next to the young girl. She was older, yes, but still, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. He waved back at her.

  The ship was finally made fast to the dock, and the gangway lowered. Jasmine hurried off the vessel, trailed by her family and servants. She held out her hands in a gesture of greeting to her estate manager. "Rory Maguire! How good of you to come and meet us! How it takes me back. Far too many years than I care to remember," she finished with a smile.

  He took the elegantly gloved hands in his and kissed them both. "Cai mille failte, my lady Jasmine. A thousand welcomes back to Ireland, and yer family too." He released her hands from his gentle grip-

  "This is my husband, James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, Rory," Jasmine said, drawing Jemmie forward.

  The two men shook hands, each carefully sizing the other up as they did so. Apparently satisfied, they smiled, speaking a greeting.

  "My wife has naught but good to say about ye, Maguire," the duke said. "I look forward to seeing the estate."

  "Thank you, my lord," came the reply. "I think you'll be pleased. 'Tis a fair land, Maguire's Ford." Rory turned back to Jasmine. "I've brought the coach, of course, my lady, and there's horses to ride if you prefer. You'll be remembering Fergus Duffy, I'm certain. He's come along to drive the coach for us. As I recall yer servants prefer it to the back of a beast."

  "Fergus Duffy, and how is your good wife, Bride?" Jasmine called up to the coachman with a smile. "My daughter is looking forward to meeting her godmother." The duchess drew her child forward. "This is Fortune, Rory. Fergus, this is the lady Fortune."

  The coachman tipped his head in greeting.

  Rory Maguire took Fortune's slender gloved hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. "I welcome you, my lady, and hope Maguire's Ford will please you so that you will want to remain."

  Fortune looked directly into the blue eyes assessing her. She felt a sudden and odd sense of recognition, yet she had been but an infant when this man had seen her last. "I thank you, sir," she replied, puzzled as to the strange feelings she was now experiencing.

  "I've a lovely little black mare with me you might enjoy," Rory said to Fortune, releasing her hand.

  "I'd prefer that fine dappled gray gelding," Fortune said pointing, and quickly recovering from her earlier sensitivities.

  "He's a wee bit unpredictable," the estate manager cautioned.

  "So am I," Fortune-replied with a mischievous grin.

  Rory Maguire laughed heartily. "Do you think you can handle him, my lady? I'll not have you being tossed about. 'Twould be a poor welcome home, I'm thinking."

  "There's not a horse alive I can't handle," Fortune boasted.

  Maguire looked to the duke and duchess, and when James Leslie nodded his approval, the Irishman said, "His name is Thunder, my lady. Come, and I'll give you a hand up."

  "My baggage?" Fortune queried.

  "We'll need several carts," Jasmine said. "Fortune brought all her possessions as she hopes to remain here in Ireland."

  "We can hire them here in town," Rory replied. "I wasn't certain the lassie would be remaining or not."

  "Is William Devers a bad catch then?" Fortune asked boldly.

  Rory chuckled again. "Nay, my lady. He's considered quite the pick of the district. Tall and handsome, he is, with a fine estate up in Lisnaskea which will one day be his own. Not as big as Maguire's Ford, mind you, but more than respectable. There'll be a lot of disappointed lassies the day he picks a wife and marries, I'm thinking."

  Fortune grew silent now. So William Devers was considered desirable by the ladies. He probably had a large head to go with his large estate. She walked across the dock to where the gray gelding stood stamping his feet with impatience. Taking the animal by his bridle she looked directly into his eyes, her other hand rubbing his velvety muzzle. "Well now, laddie, you're a handsome fellow. I do believe we'll get on just fine. Ready for a good long run? I surely am, but you must behave yourself until we get out of the town and onto the high road. Then we'll race the wind, you and I!"

  Rory Maguire watched the girl speaking softly with the horse. He had felt a strange feeling when he had first looked upon her. It was as if he knew her, and yet that was not possible. He had not quite yet shaken off the sensation but he approved her actions with the animal. Cupping his hands together he helped her to mount Thunder. "Up you go, my lady." Only as he boosted her was he suddenly aware that the horse did not have a lady's saddle, but the girl mounted astride, obviously used to riding that way. He untied the animal from its hitching ring.

  Thunder danced a bit as he accepted the new weight upon his back. He tossed his head to test her mettle, but she held him firm, her hands resting with seeming lightness upon the reins, her knees pressing against the horse's sides, warning him, guiding him. "Easy, laddie," she soothed him, and his ears pressed back, listening to the soft voice, new but a moment ago, now familiar. He quieted.

  Rory Maguire smiled and nodded, pleased. The girl was a natural horsewoman. Turning he looked to see the boxes and trunks being unloaded off the ship. "Mary, Mother of God," he muttered beneath his breath. "I've never seen such a muck."

  The duke laughed. He had had the same reaction when he first saw all of Fortune's luggage. "I've had the captain send into the town for wagons to transport my daughter's belongings. We dinna have to wait. Do ye hae horses for my wife and for me?"

  "Aye, my lord. The lady can ride the black mare. 'Twas a black mare you last rode to Maguire's Ford," he recalled with a quick smile at Jasmine, and she nodded. "And I've a fine stallion for you, my lord. He's just trained. I couldn't bear to geld him, and so I must keep him separate from the breeding stock. We'll probably sell him to someone who needs a new breeder. He'll fetch a fine price as do all our animals. The descendants of Nightwind and Nightsong are very valuable animals. Who's to ride in the coach?"

  "Adali and Rohana," Jasmine said.

  "So they're still with you, eh? What happened to the other little lass you had, my lady?"

  "Toramalli is a married woman now," Jasmine answered him. "She and her husband are at Glenkirk, our home in Scotland, making certain our three sons behave themselves. Patrick is fourteen now, while his younger brothers are thirteen and ten. We thought to bring Adam and Duncan with us, but they preferred having a summer without us."

  "Then you expect to return home fairly quickly?" Rory asked.

  "Aye," Jasmine replied. "William Devers has been recommended by both my priestly cousin and by the Reverend Mr. Steen. If he and Fortune please each other there will be a wedding before summer's end, Rory. If that happens, the daughter born at Maguire's Ford will make Ireland her home. I hope he will turn out to be Fortune's future, for I should like my daughter to be happy and settled."

  " 'Tis every mother's wish," Rory answered her. Ahh, how lovely she was despite her years. He almost sighed aloud.

  "Good day, Master Maguire," the voice said, and Rory was pulled from his reverie.

  Startled, he looked up, and into the face of Jasmine's faithful servant, Adali. The man never changed, he thought a bit irritably. The light brown face was still bland and smooth. The dark eyes piercing. "I thought not to see you again, Adali," he replied.

  "Yet here I am like a bad penny," Adali smiled, showing a row of even white teeth. "All is in readiness for our journey?"

  "Aye."

  "Then let us depart," Adali said. He turned. "Rohana, get into the coach. I will shortly join you." He swiveled about again, speaking to the duke. "The wagons for my lady's possessions will be here shortly, my lord. Rohana has gathered everything that we will need for the journey and stored it in the coach. The wagons will travel more slowly than we will. I do not expect them at Erne Rock until at least a day after our arrival, but the ladies will certainly want to rest for a few days before entertaining, I am certain."

  "Excellent," the duke replied as he swung himself into the saddle of the young stallion.

  The day, which had been bright, now
turned gray once again as a fine misty rain began to fall.

  "A soft day, just like my first day in Ireland," Jasmine said, smiling at Rory Maguire. "Tell me how my cousin fares."

  "He is well, and content as a mousie in its winter nest," came the answer. "He's a good man, Cullen Butler, for all he's a priest. He's not judgmental, or small-minded like so many of the others. As he so often admits, Rome would not approve of him at all, but Rome is very far away. At Maguire's Ford he is a blessing."

  "And the Protestants we settled with their minister?"

  "Good people, and hard working," Maguire replied. "Samuel Steen is cut very much from the same cloth as your cousin, my lady. He's sensible and open-minded. We've had no difficulties although others have, but then we both know the reasons for it."

  "Pray God, Rory, that we can keep Maguire's Ford a place of peace for good people," Jasmine told him.

  They rode for several hours, finally stopping at a small inn.

  "This is a familiar place," Jasmine said, "and yet it was not here the last time. There was a farmhouse. A deserted woman and her poor bairns, Rory. What happened to her?"

  He chuckled. "You don't know? Yer late husband, the English marquess, sent me back a month or so after you had settled in at Maguire's Ford. He purchased the farmhouse from Mistress Tully, and then hired her to run an inn here. With the monies he paid she did just that, and was able to keep her land to farm as well. Look at the name of the place, my lady. The Golden Lion. Mistress Tully said that's what the Englishman reminded her of, a lion. Hers is the only decent stopping place between here and Maguire's Ford. A lot of the English don't like it, but there's naught they can do since the place is owned by the most English marquess of Westleigh and his family."