A Love for All Time (83 page)

The light of hope sprang into the girl’s eyes, and she nodded vigorously. “Thank ye, m’lady! Thank ye!”

“Will ye swear yer loyalty to me alone, Nan? Will ye swear on the name of Jesus himself?”

Nan never hesitated a moment. “I will, m’lady! I swear on Jesu’s name.”

“Then ye need have nothing further to fear. Now, how did ye get those awful bruises?”

The girl flushed scarlet, and her eyes went to Cavan FitzGerald, but she said nothing, and Aidan knew she was afraid.

“Has Master FitzGerald raped ye?” she asked in a low voice.

“Aye, m’lady. He threatened to kill the bairn if I would not yield to him.”

“He will not touch ye again,” said Aidan quietly, and then she walked back across the room to where Cavan FitzGerald stood speaking to her grandfather who yet sat in his place. She pierced the old man with such a fierce look that he immediately noticed her, and without meaning to acknowledged her. “If,” said Aidan in a hard voice, “this miserable offspring of yer brother ever touches my daughter’s wet nurse again, I’ll cut his throat, I swear it!” She then looked scornfully at Cavan. “Oh, ’tis a brave gallant ye are, Cavan FitzGerald, selling helpless, innocent women into slavery, and forcing yerself upon a poor, frightened girl. Ye make me want to puke!” Then turning her back upon him she demanded of Rogan FitzGerald, “Where am I to sleep? ’Tis too late for me to set out again for the coast tonight.”

“Would ye go before I’ve had the chance to offer ye my hospitality?” whined the old man.

“Aye, I would, if I had the light, but this damned twilight of yers is not good enough for strangers, and the path here is steep. I’d not endanger my child, my people, or my animals. The morning will be time enough,
grandfather.
I trust we will be safe in yer house this one night.”

“There, girl, there is no need to be insulting,” he complained.

“Swear on the name of the crucified Christ, and my mother’s memory!” she said coldly to him.

“I swear,” he snapped at her, and the look he gave her was a baleful one for her scorn was obvious.

“Where do I sleep then?” she demanded.

“Ye can go in with the wet nurse, and the child at the top of the tower. There’s just the one room up there. Yer men can bed down in the stable.”

“I’ve already two men in the stable minding the horses,” she said. “Cluny and Harry will be outside my door to discourage any visitors.”

“It’s insulting ye are,” Rogan FitzGerald grumbled. “As I remember yer mother was a sweet-natured and biddable lass. Yer nothing like her in either yer manner, nor yer face. I see only English.”

“Good!” she answered him with a quick smile, “but ye’d best beware of my Irish, grandfather. That’s the part ye can’t see, and my experience with the FitzGeralds had led me to be wary of them.”

Rogan FitzGerald suddenly chuckled. He had decided that he liked this granddaughter of his. He was going to enjoy having her live here with him. She had his Ceara’s spirit in her, and several of her mannerisms reminded him of his wife in her youth. “Come, and sit by me, Aidan St. Michael,” he said. “Ye must be hungry after yer ride.”

The tension began to ease in the hall now that the young woman and the old man seemed to have settled their differences. Aidan sat next to her grandfather, and signaled to Cluny and Harry to find themselves places which they did, their backs to the stone wall of the room. The rest of the family living in the tower house began to make their appearances now that the dinner hour was approaching. There was Rogan’s eldest son, his heir, Eamon, and his wife, Moire, and their several noisy children. Rogan’s other married sons lived in their own homes thanks to their wives. Father Barra, the priest, was there, a heavyset man with cold and dead-looking brown eyes, and a narrow mouth that bespoke cruelty. He had been a total puzzle to his mother, the long-dead Ceara, who had never understood that Barra’s bitterness stemmed from not having been born first. The two eldest sons of Eamon and Moire were married, and also lived in the tower house. It was not a comfortable situation.

The meal was not a particularly appetizing one. There was mutton, somewhat stringy and tough; a sea bass that had suffered slightly from its trip inland, and was, Aidan decided, somewhat past its prime. The capon, however, was freshly killed, and roasted nicely. There were no vegetables other than a turnip that was obviously the last of the past autumn’s harvest, but there was freshly baked bread, and sweet butter, and a sharp, hard cheese. Wine was a luxury that Rogan FitzGerald rarely wasted on his family, and certainly not on his retainers. Ale was the drink served.

Aidan concentrated upon the capon, the bread, butter, and cheese. When Cluny and Harry had finished eating she sent them to the stables with food for Mark and Jim for she knew if she didn’t send her own people the two men with the horses would starve. Her grandfather’s hospitality was hardly the gracious bounty that hers had been. When she finished eating, and her two men had returned she arose, and abruptly bidding the assembled FitzGeralds good night, she stamped up the staircase to the small room at the tower top, passing as she went the other chambers for the other members of the family. Entering into the room she threw the bar across the door while outside Cluny and Harry prepared to stand watch.

Nan was already there with Valentina, and Aidan saw that the girl had tried to make the small stone chamber welcoming. There was but one narrow bed in the room with a trundle beneath it, but the coverlets were fluffed and neatly arranged, and there was a small fire in the little fireplace to help take the evening’s chill off the room. Quietly Aidan sat down, and when Nan had finished nursing the baby she handed her to her new mistress. There had been little time earlier to ascertain that Valentina was all right. Now Aidan examined the child carefully, and satisfied that her daughter was in good health, she cuddled her close, and said, “Ye’ve been a brave girl, Nan, and ye’ve taken good care of Valentina. It is very possible that we will have to leave Ballycoille rather quickly. Can ye be ready on a moment’s notice, and will ye not be frightened no matter what happens?”

“I’d follow ye into hell, m’lady, to get out of here. I’ve never been more frightened in me life. Having me baby in a ditch in an alley in Cardiff weren’t half as frightening as being in this place has been. I can barely understand these people, and Master Cavan is a mean one, he is.”

“Aye,” Aidan agreed with the girl, “and those are the kindest words I’ve ever heard to describe Cavan. Don’t worry, my girl, I promised ye that I’d protect ye, and I will. We leave here tomorrow for the coast where I’ve a vessel waiting, and then it’s back to England. Ye’ll like
Pearroc Royal.
It’s a good place.”

“How can I thank ye, m’lady?” said Nan, her voice shaky, her eyes teary.

“How can I thank ye, Nan? Ye saved my baby’s life with yer milk, and ye’ve a home at
Pearroc Royal
as long as ye want it, and a yearly wage to be paid each Michaelmas. I want more than one baby, and Valentina’s nursemaid won’t be able to handle two babies. I need ye, lass.”

It had been a long day, and the two women were tired so they lay down to rest, Nan placing Valentina in her cradle, which old Rogan FitzGerald told her earlier had once housed Aidan’s mother, Bevin. On the other side of the chamber door, Cluny and Harry diced to keep themselves amused while below in the hall Cavan FitzGerald fumed at having been temporarily thwarted in his plan to marry Aidan.

“There’s time, nephew,” soothed Rogan FitzGerald.

“Time? With her planning to leave tomorrow? She’s changed, she has. I’m not so certain that I want to marry her now.”

“But ye will,” said Rogan harshly. “How else can we get our hands on her wealth? Don’t fret, Cavan, my lad. There’s a storm coming, and by morning the rain will be so heavy that ’twill be impossible for Aidan St. Michael to leave us; at least until the storm is over which I suspect will not be for at least two days. By then we’ll have ye a married man, and ye’ll bed the wench firmly. She’s a high-strung filly, I’ll grant ye, but they’re the kind that breed the best foals. She but needs a firm hand on the bridle to tell her who her master is.”

“We’ll never get near her as long as her watchdogs are at her heels,” said Cavan referring to Cluny and Harry Beal. “The smaller of the two is Conn O’Malley’s personal servant.”

“Then we will have to remove them,” said Rogan FitzGerald.

“Let me kill them!”

“Cavan, my lad, yer too impetuous. There’s no need to spill anyone’s blood. They’ll go to take food to their companions in the stable come morning; and when they do, we’ll simply bar the tower door so they cannot reenter. Ye’d best get some rest, my lad, for we’ll celebrate yer wedding on the morrow, and tomorrow night ye’ll get no rest at all!” and he laughed loudly, and poked his nephew playfully.

By morning a particularly wet and windy storm was lashing the southwest section of Ireland making travel, as Rogan FitzGerald had predicted, virtually impossible. Awakening early Aidan had heard the rain, and arising she had gone to the narrow window to look out. Dismayed she gazed out at the rain which was falling in a steady, gray sheet.

“Damn!” she swore mildly, and then she hurried to the door and opened it saying as she did to Cluny and Harry Beal, “It’s pouring. I don’t think we can travel today, but take some food out to the stables to Mark and Jim and see what they think.”

“If it were just us,” said Cluny, “I think I’d want to get out of here as soon as I could, but with the bairn, and her wet nurse, m’lady, I think they will agree we must wait for better weather. We passed no inn on the road here so there’s nowhere else where we may shelter.”

“Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,” said Aidan hopefully.

“And maybe ’tis worse,” chuckled Cluny teasingly. “Come on, Harry,” he said. “I don’t know about ye, lad, but I could use some food, and a tankard of ale right now. We’ll not be too long, m’lady. Will ye be all right?”

She nodded. “I think my grandfather realizes now that I am not to be trifled with, but I will be interested to learn before I leave just why he wanted me here. Probably money. I suspect he could use some.”

The two men disappeared off down the winding stone staircase, and Aidan reentered the room to discover that Nan and the baby were now awake. Taking a little bit of water she poured it into the basin, and washed her face. The water was cold, and Aidan thought of home, and how dear Mag always warmed the water before she put it in the basin. This was a whole new world, and one in which Aidan did not think she would enjoy living.

“Ye stay here,” she ordered Nan. “Yer safe here. Bar the door, and I’ll see the food is sent up to ye.”

“If it pleases yer ladyship it would be better if I ran down now before the household is up. Valentina will want to eat shortly.”

“Yer right,” replied Aidan. “Go along now.”

Nan slipped from the room, and Aidan sat down to study her daughter who was now playing with her toes. She was such a pretty baby with her violet eyes and her copper-colored hair. My daughter without a doubt, but that she’s far lovelier than I’ve ever been. Who is her father? I wonder. Aidan looked hard at the baby who cooed and smiled back at her mother, bringing a smile to Aidan’s own lips. I see nothing of Conn, nor Javid Khan, nor Murad in her, she thought. Perhaps it is better that way. Ye’ll know but one father, my dearest little one, and that is my darling Conn. Reaching out she stroked Valentina’s rose-petal cheek. “We’re going home soon, my darling, if only the damned rain would stop!”

Nan came hurrying back into the chamber bearing a small loaf, a bowl of hot oat stirabout, and some ale. “Yer grandsire is already in the hall, m’lady, and he kindly asks that ye join him for morning prayer, and then the meal.”

Aidan brushed her skirt off, and taking a clean shirt from her saddlebags got dressed. Her long hair was unbraided, brushed out, and rebraided again. “Bar the door when I leave,” said Aidan, “and don’t open it to anyone but me whatever they tell ye. My men will be back shortly, and will be there to guard ye.”

“Yes, m’lady,” was the dutiful reply.

Aidan hurried from the room, and heard the thunk of the heavy wooden bar as Nan lowered it into place thus preventing entry into the tower room by an unwanted guest. Making her way downstairs she joined her grandfather and his family who had already assembled in the hall for morning prayer as the tower house had no chapel. Her uncle Barra conducted the service in his cold, hard voice, and afterward joined them at the high board for the meal which was the same as Nan’s. Aidan thought longingly of thick slices of pink ham, and eggs poached in sweet marsala; of honey and crisp fruity wine. Then with a grin at herself she settled down to eating what she had. She spoke little having little to say to her relations.

When the meal was finished, and the servants had cleared the table, Rogan FitzGerald said, “Ye won’t be leaving today, of course, but ’tis just as well as we have certain unfinished business, Aidan St. Michael.”

“Unfinished business?
Ah, yes. The business of why yer nephew kidnapped my daughter, and forced me to chase after her to Ireland. Aye, grandfather, I should be most interested to learn the reasoning behind it all. Say on.”

Rogan FitzGerald allowed a small smile to nudge the corners of his mouth. She was proud, this granddaughter of his, but very soon she’d yield to proper authority, and then her manner would not be so haughty. “It is time ye were married,” he began.

“Married?”
She looked at the old man as if he had lost his mind, and she was not certain he had not. “Grandfather, I am married.”

“Not properly,” he answered her firmly. “Not in the Holy Mother Church.”

“I was married by the queen’s own chaplain!” said Aidan hotly.

“We do not recognize Henry Tudor’s bastard daughter, nor her chaplain ! Heretics all! Ye were born, baptized, and raised in the Holy Mother Church. That which ye call a marriage is not according to its laws. Ye have been living in sin, Aidan St. Michael, but then ye had no family to guide ye properly. Yer father’s people are gone, and so it is my duty as yer mother’s father to see ye decently wed.”