Rose of the Mists

by Parker, Laura

  Piers paused before his wife’s chair and patted her pale cheek affectionately. “Forgive me, wife. Edmund and I had words before supper which have left me ill tempered.”

  Robin, who sat on a settee nearby, crossed his elegantly clad leg over the other and adjusted the silk bow of his ribbon garter. “’Twould seem we have arrived at a bad time, Sir Piers. We were not given warning of the troubles in Kilkenny.”

  Piers snorted, avoiding his wife’s look of disapproval at the crudity. “There’s been nothing to tell.” He winked at his wife. “I wouldn’t be privy to how it began. A few cows reived by some rascally Englishmen, and wouldn’t you know our lads would have them back again.”

  “I see,” Robin commented quietly. “And then, of course, a few acres of corn are burned, pure mischief, and then a barn, a church, a small loss of life among the peasants.”

  “Aye, ’tis so,” Piers answered, but his eyes had taken on a new light as he regarded Sir Robin. “What think you of our land, Sir Robin?”

  “I find the countryside most diverting,” Robin answered agreeably, “and the company exceptionally fine.”

  “Does Revelin know how exceptionally fine you find Mistress Meghan?”

  Caught staring at Meghan, Robin could only laugh and give in graciously. “No doubt he would take exception to my interest; but, alas for poor Revelin, he is not present to learn of my unrequited tendre.”

  Meghan held still under Piers’s dissecting gaze, but she wished that she had not left Ualter in Dublin. He was not her pet, that was true, and Revelin would certainly expect him to be in Dublin when he returned; but she missed his massive shaggy presence at her feet when Piers looked as though he would like to swallow her in one gulp.

  Robin saw Meghan’s discomfort and wondered that Piers’s wife had not called her husband’s attention away. Then he saw that she was bent over a knot in the thread she was weaving into her tapestry and knew it was up to him to capture Piers’s attention. “Has Sir Edmund gone out to—ah—converse with Carew?”

  Piers chuckled, not looking away from Meghan. “He has, in a manner of speaking. Carew understands nothing so much as a blow on the nose with a sharp stick.”

  “A battle!”

  The distress in Robin’s voice succeeded in claiming Piers’s full attention. “You’re not the squeamish sort? The lads go out to trade a few blows, ’tis all. I’m told Carew was once something of a soldier. They say at his castle in Idrone he has tiny soldiers with which to play at games of war. He is without the imagination to use the chessboard to sharpen his skills.”

  “If it is only a sporting game, why has Edmund taken most of the castle’s soldiers with him?”

  Piers’s black brows bristled like the hairs on a boar’s back. “Did he now? And you were counting?”

  Robin shrugged elegantly. “My bedroom window faces the south gate. I was fascinated by the parade.”

  “A sad choice of rooms for you,” Piers remarked, “seeing how the racket disturbed ye.”

  “Not at all.” Robin smiled boyishly. “As a courtier only, I was impressed by the armed brigade.”

  “So you’re nae a soldier, Sir Robin? I’m curious that you’d come to Ireland at all. ’Tis believed by some that the English send only spies and soldiers to Irish soil.”

  “Piers!” his wife cried shrilly.

  Piers gave her a loving smile but his dark eyes said Shut up, sweet wife. “Will you answer that, Sir Robin?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Robin tossed back lightly. He saw the beginnings of a frown crease Meghan’s brow, and the notion that she was worried about his welfare made his heart pound pleasantly. “I came to Ireland at the queen’s request. You know that Revelin was to sketch the North Country for the queen’s pleasure. I was sent along to bring a little harmony to the group.”

  “What of the others who accompanied you?”

  Lady Mary rose. “Really, Piers, you press our guests too hard. I will not permit it any longer. Mistress O’Neill, you will kindly follow me. If the gentlemen should prefer to cross blades, you and I need not listen.”

  Meghan rose reluctantly, a silent plea in her eyes for Robin’s guidance.

  “You must be tired after our journey,” Robin suggested, hoping that Lady Mary’s hospitality was not a Butler ploy to divide and conquer them. “I’m certain our hosts will understand if you seek your bed instead of our company.”

  “We would indeed,” Lady Mary concurred. “You do not look especially well to me, Mistress O’Neill. You hardly touched your meal, and you are much too pale after being so flushed when you arrived. A warm quiet bed should do wonders.” As she talked she led Meghan to the doorway. With a last admonition to her husband, “Be kind to Sir Robin or I shall have to resort to my own methods,” she swept the pair of them out of the long hall.

  Robin bowed with a smile as the door closed, then turned abruptly to Piers with a piercing look. “Is the castle left entirely unguarded?”

  Piers shrugged. “Your concern for our welfare surprises me.”

  Robin smiled. “’Tis in part concern for my own welfare, since I now reside within these walls.”

  Piers chuckled. “Revelin said I would like you, and I do, though you are more English than ’tis to my liking.”

  “That makes us even.”

  This time Piers roared his approval. “Come, have another brandy and tell me why you’ve traveled this great distance for naught.”

  Robin smiled. “Is it for naught to help a friend in need?”

  “Is that what she is?”

  “What else?”

  Piers grinned. “Revelin told me she bore a mark that had the men of Ulster up in arms and that the wee lass herself believes she has visions that foresee the future.”

  “Revelin told you a great deal,” Robin observed.

  “Aye, that he did. We’re family, and the lass is in need of a home. Her mark doesn’t revolt you, Sir Robin?”

  “No,” Robin said quietly. “I now find nothing but beauty and sweetness in Mistress O’Neill’s appearance.”

  “So, too, do I!” Piers poured more brandy into Robin’s goblet. “But you and I are not too proud to admit that there’s a certain streak of fear that runs in all of us when we see the work of God marred by Satan’s hand.”

  “Really, is that not a strong word for an accident of birth?”

  “Is it that? Revelin said she frightened Turlough O’Neill half out of his wits with her visions.”

  Robin frowned. He had been unable to learn exactly what had happened the night Meghan saved his life, but he doubted that the superstitious prattling of the O’Neill chieftain had rational basis. “Mistress O’Neill saved my life. If it was by witchcraft, fairy magic, or Satan’s left hand, I will be forever grateful to her.”

  “And defend her against all attack. Very commendable,” Piers finished for him. “Well, ’tis only a bit of advice I give to you, for if you know Revelin, you know the Butler temper. The lad thinks himself in love with the lass, and she, well, I saw her smile at dinner when his name was mentioned.”

  Robin understood perfectly. Meghan was now under Butler protection and he was to keep his feelings for her to himself. “I’d give my life to aid her in any cause she chose.”

  Piers nodded. “Good. Now tell me what threats and warnings Sir Sidney has sent with you. Do not look so amazed, lad. Were I Sidney, I’d be sending more than a beribboned courtier to Kilkenny.”

  “Will it come to war?” Robin asked, not dismayed by the change of topic.

  “It should not! Unless Carew’s twice as great a fool as he makes himself appear.”

  “And if it does, is Kilkenny safe?”

  Piers nodded. “As safe as a babe at his mother’s tit.”

  Robin smiled. “Then let’s discuss Sir Sidney.”

  *

  At dawn a gray-white mist off the river Nore threaded its path through the streets of the town. The silence of the early-morning hours courted sleep, but Meghan lay awak
e in her bed listening with half an ear to the muffled sounds from the courtyard below as the servants of the castle prepared for a new day.

  I carry Revelin’s child within me!

  It was miraculous, incredible, wonderful! Would Revelin be pleased? She had never thought to ask him if he liked children. Would he still want her with him? Would the child be a boy or a girl? Would the child be beautiful like his father or…

  Meghan shut her eyes. Would the child be cursed with her mark? That fear had awakened her before the sky had lightened, and she was no nearer an answer now, hours later.

  If the child bore the same mark as she would Revelin accept it as his own or send it away as her father had? Or, if he kept the child, would he ever after look at her with wariness in his eyes? Revelin was the only person who had looked upon her from the first without fear or revulsion or dislike. That might change if she bore him a son whom the world would look at askance. If that happened, what would she do?

  The clamor in the distance grew, and gradually Meghan came to realize that the noise came not from the castle courtyard but from the town.

  She sat up in bed as a cry echoed up from the courtyard. Immediately she heard footsteps on the circular staircase that led to the tower room in which she slept. Dragging a blanket from the bed and winding it about her, she was halfway to the door when it burst open. Robin stood there, his hair on end and his shirt unlaced as if he had dressed in a hurry.

  “Dress quickly! Kilkenny’s under attack! Carew’s men have broached the town gates!” He looked about the room and then nodded to himself. “It will serve. Stay here. Barricade the door and do not come out until you hear my voice on the other side. Promise me!”

  “Attack?” Meghan looked him over again, noting the sword in his hand. “Sir Robin, ye will nae fight?”

  Robin grinned cockily, his sunburnt freckles standing in high relief on his cheeks. “Do you think I should stand idly by while these Anglo-Irish Butlers have all the fun?”

  Meghan shook her head. “Ye’re English.” A thought struck her and her eyes widened. “Ye would nae fight the Butlers?”

  Robin’s high, infectious laughter filled the tiny room. “’Tis why I love you, Meghan, you say what you think. I’ll not betray my hosts. It occurs to me that you might at least wish me luck.”

  Meghan put out a hand to him and the next moment she was swept up in his embrace. His breath was warm and quick on her cheek an instant before his lips covered hers in a hotly passionate kiss. Almost at once she was released. “That’s to remind you that I intend to come back.” He smiled radiantly at her. “I’ve decided ’tis time I took a wife. When I come back I’ll fight even Revelin if I must, for I want you. I love you!”

  Then he was gone, with his last words ringing in Meghan’s ears. Astonishment held her to the spot for the space of several heartbeats. She could not have heard aright. Robin in love with her? How? Why, when he knew she carried Revelin’s child?

  An explosion in the distance shook the walls of the castle. She raced to the narrow window to look out. To the south near the main gate the town had begun to burn. A second explosion followed the first. The flash of light that appeared through the dense fog and accompanying blast of noise reminded her of lightning striking a tree. But this was not lightning. This was gunpowder.

  Below her, beyond the stretch of the moat, men bearing pitchforks, clubs, and spikes were running toward the sounds. Against them came a tide of women and children streaming toward the castle. Mist shrouded them after only a few yards and they were lost. Had Sir Piers opened the castle bridge to these frightened folk? The question decided her course of action. She would not remain shut up in the tower when she could be useful below.

  Within moments she was dressed as best she could without help, abandoning most of her petticoats and fastening her gown only halfway up the back. When she had braided her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, she strapped her skean to her arm and went down.

  In the main gallery she found Lady Mary with her children, their servants, and a few soldiers.

  Lady Mary rose from her tapestry loom as Meghan appeared. “My dear! Sir Robin said he had left you safely behind your bedroom door.”

  Meghan dropped a hasty curtsy, aware of her inadequacies in the presence of this regal lady. “I could nae hide away, Lady Mary, when there’s trouble.” She cast a worried look at the tall Tudor windows as another blast shook the dawn.

  “Cannons!” Lady Mary cried and bit her lip. “We were unaware that Sir Peter was so well equipped. Piers will be furious.”

  Meghan looked about. “Where is Sir Piers?”

  “Out there,” she answered, casting a hand toward the town. “When Edmund did not return before dawn, Piers took a party of men and went to find him.” Her eyes filled with tears but her voice was firm. “I am most unhappy with my gracious husband! He leaves us here to wait when he might have commanded the castle forces.”

  “My lady!” a servant cried as he came unbidden into the gallery. “My lady, Sir Edward is at the gate requesting entrance.”

  “Edward? Is Elenore with him? Why do you stand there? Let them in!”

  The servant looked uncertain. “Sir Piers gave orders to lower the drawbridge to no one but himself, m’lady.”

  Lady Mary did something that quite surprised Meghan. She reached out and boxed the servant’s ear. “Dolt! He could not have known that his own brother would come to the door. Open it immediately!”

  The servant held his ear but there was a wide smile on his face as he bowed and hurried out.

  She turned to Meghan, all blushes. “What must you think of me? There are times when I believe Piers’s rough manners will overwhelm me entirely, though I must admit, they are most effective. You must be hungry. Kate, bring Mistress Meghan breakfast.”

  Meghan had no time to touch her breakfast before the gallery was once more disturbed, this time by a family of nobles who bore the dust of the road on their clothes. The fourth Butler brother was in his middle thirties, and as he moved he clanked from the armor he wore beneath his mantle.

  “Mary!” he greeted warmly, and as he pulled his hat from his head, Meghan saw that, like his brothers, he was dark.

  “Edward! Elenore!” Lady Mary cried and went to embrace the arrivals. “Just look at Elizabeth,” she continued, hugging the tall slender girl who came behind her mother. “And James and John, how you’ve grown!” she said, ruffling the hair of the two boys. “Come in, come in, we’ve food and drink for all!”

  Edward shook his head. “I’ve come only to see my family safely behind Kilkenny’s walls. Piers is fighting beyond the city gates and Edmund has disappeared.”

  “Dead?” Lady Mary questioned fearfully.

  “Nae, he’s ridden home to Clogrennan, I’ll hazard, to raise more troops.”

  Lady Mary bit her lip nervously. “The city gates are broached, truly?”

  Sir Edward smiled. “’Tis one thing to broach a city’s gates. ’Tis another thing entirely to storm a castle. Carew is not a madman. He would not dare attack the home of the earl of Ormond, who at this very minute sits in the queen’s chambers.”

  Lady Mary nodded, but Meghan, who watched in silence, saw the look of doubt creep into all their expressions, and a feeling of unease moved deep within her. A castle was not impregnable. If this Englishman Carew did attack, Sir Edmund would need to arrive in time to save them. She could not say why she knew that; but the certainty of it further disturbed her, and she backed away from them.

  The morning passed slowly, punctuated by the ever-advancing sound of cannon fire as the battle for the city continued. After the first frantic minutes following the arrival of Edward Butler’s family, Meghan had retired to an alcove near a window that faced south to watch silently as house after house went up in flame.

  The chattering in the room behind her slowly receded until there was only the push-pull of her own pulse in her ears. The mists over the city darkened as though night were falling, and the
orange-red tongues of flame grew steadily until they licked the heavens. Cannon blasts increased until the night was showered with sparks. And wherever they fell, new flames leaped up, greedily consuming the town.

  Suddenly, she was on the street outside the castle, being shoved and jostled as the terrified townsmen ran past her, their screams of fear bursting in her ears. “We’ll die! We’re going to die!”

  Meghan bit hard on the knuckle she had wedged between her teeth to keep from crying out. The stinging pain seeped slowly into her consciousness until she was once more inside the castle, looking out on a bright sunlit afternoon.

  A vision. She had had another vision, but was it real? Would Kilkenny fall completely? And would she die? “No, please God, no! Spare the child!”

  “Oh dear! What have you done?” Lady Mary questioned when Meghan’s whimpering drew her to the alcove.

  Meghan looked down at her bleeding finger. “I hurt meself.”

  Lady Mary fell back a step before Meghan’s bleak look. “Are you ill, child?”

  Meghan shook her head. She would not tell them, could not tell them, what she had seen. If they believed her, they would panic. If they did not, they would think her mad. She rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’m a wee bit weary. I’ll go to me room now.”

  She did not look up as she passed out of the gallery and into the corridor but she heard whispering behind her. Once in the hall, she began to run. She had to get away, to lock herself in the tower to protect Revelin’s child. When she rounded a corner she collided with one of the servants.

  The young girl’s cry of surprise turned to horror when she saw who had bumped into her. “Saints preserve us! She touched me! I’m cursed! Cursed!”

  Lady Mary came hurrying across the hall. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

  The servant girl crossed herself, tears pouring down her cheeks. “She’s cursed me. Look!” She held out a hand smeared with blood. “She’s put the curse of death on me, she has, with her bloody mark! We’ll all be killed for taking in that devil’s spawn!”

  When Lady Mary slapped the servant, Meghan fell back until the cold stone wall stopped her. “I—I did nae do it!” she wailed. She held up her bloody hand to cover her cheek. “I hurt meself, ’twas all. An accident. I would nae curse ye, I would nae!”