L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep (6 page)

“What do you mean?” he asked, though several possibilities, none
of them appealing, came to mind.

“The MacCarthys seek revenge for Dermot’s death, milord. They
desire it nearly as much as they continue to want Gerald’s Keep for their own.
But now they believe they’ve the perfect weapon, an indisputable way to gain
this stronghold, milord. They believe the babe I carry is Dermot’s. They’ll
stop at nothing to gain control of him, and through him, this castle.”

Moira accepted Lord Connor’s assistance as they left the headland
and headed back to the keep, but they made the short journey in silence.

She’d shocked him, no doubt. How could it be otherwise? He was a
decent man, a moral one. That much had already become clear to her in the brief
time she’d known him. He wouldn’t want to stay here, to continually risk his
life and the lives of his men, to defend an admitted adulteress.

She knew how it would be. Once they reached the hall, he’d excuse
himself and distance himself from her as much as possible for the remainder of
his stay here.

And he’d stay no longer than necessary.

Or else he’d decide to do as the MacCarthys wanted, and hand
her—and her child—over to them.

Though how that would help, she’d no idea, for she doubted the
FitzCliffords would agree to hand over Gerald’s Keep as well.

And
that
was what the
MacCarthys truly desired.

Besides, she couldn’t believe that Connor FitzClifford could be
so vicious as to turn her over to the men who had abused her.

How he would resolve their troubles with the MacCarthys, she had
no idea. But she could not allow him to do anything that might jeopardize her
child’s life.

He steadied her on her feet once they reached the postern gate.
Desperation gave her the courage to reach out and catch his arm, to stop him
before he opened the barred door. “I realize I’ve no right to ask this of you,
milord, but I’ll do so anyway. Promise me you won’t give my child to the
MacCarthys. Do whatever you wish with me once the babe is born, but don’t allow
them to take my child!”

“What kind of monster do you think me?” His face had blanched at
her words, making splotchy freckles stand out across his cheeks. His dark eyes
held hurt, confusion; had what she’d said been so surprising? “I would never
harm a child, nor separate a babe from its mother,” he said, the conviction in
his voice ringing true. He stared at her hand, pale against his dark sleeve,
until she released him.

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I beg your pardon, milord,” she
muttered, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

“Don’t look away now, Lady Moira,” he said. His quiet tone, at
odds with the air of command his words carried, compelled her to obey. She
stared at him, bemused, as he held her gaze with his. “Perhaps you’ve not known
any men you could trust before now, but I swear to you upon my honor, milady,
you can trust me.”

The wind buffeted them, whipping her hair about, winding the strands
around them both. He ignored it and held out his right hand to her. She placed
her hand in his, palm to palm, letting his warmth seep into her chilled
fingers.

“Will you trust me?” he asked. Still holding her motionless with
his eyes, he brought her hand to his lips, turned it to kiss her palm, then
closed her fingers and pressed her hand to his chest. “Please.”

His heart thundered beneath her touch as he awaited her answer.
With his eyes staring deep into her soul, his lifeblood pulsing against her
palm, ′twas a bond as binding as a vow. How could she refuse him?

“I will try, milord. Tis all I can promise—I will try.” He
released her hand and broke the spell he’d cast. “Thank you,” he murmured,
looking away. Turning, he reached for the latch and pulled the door open.

Her mind in turmoil, her body exhausted, Moira followed him into
the bailey.

Connor spent the remainder of the day examining the defenses of
Gerald’s Keep and observing the battle readiness of its men. By dusk, he’d
learned enough about the place and its people to realize that resolving the
situation here was sure to prove a greater task than either he or Rannulf had
anticipated.

He’d also discovered the depth of Lady Moira’s entanglement in
the circumstances leading up to their current problems. Not only through her
unborn child.

It appeared her brothers were involved, as were nearly half the
Irish nobles in the area. Opinions about the
O’Neills
ran strong among Lady Moira’s people. Most everyone agreed that her brothers
treated her as naught but a pawn to manipulate whenever they wanted something
from her, or needed her Norman husband to bail them out of some trouble or
another.

They saw their lady as next to a saint for her care of her
people—not to mention her sacrifice on their behalf. It seemed to him that
d’Athée’s
opinion of her was not widely held. Instead,
those Connor spoke with were very loyal to her, and would be to her child, as
well.

Connor entered the hall, tired and filthy, intending to head
straight for the chamber he’d been given on the third floor of the keep. A maid
had informed him earlier that Lady Moira would not be joining them in the hall
for supper. He looked forward to a quiet meal, without any of the emotional
turmoil she seemed to generate within him whenever she was near.

Will hailed him from a corner near the stairwell as Connor set
his foot on the first riser.

“′Tis glad I am to see you, milord,” he said, his voice
devoid of its usual cheerfulness. He motioned toward the stairs with the
drinking horn he held, sending adrift the scent of mulled wine. “I’ve news
aplenty to share.”

“Come join me, then,” Connor said. “And if you’ve any of that
left, bring it along.”

Will disappeared into the shadowy hall and emerged with a
battered silver pitcher and another drinking horn. “Milord.” He followed Connor
up the stairs.

Will had proved himself indispensable in keeping d’Athée busy and
out of Connor’s way today, although it was clear that his efforts had taken
their toll on him. Apparently Sir Ivor had managed what Connor had believed
impossible—to wear through Will’s usual good humor and even temper, reducing
his smile to a scowl and painting shadows of weariness across his face.

“You owe me more than you can ever repay for this day’s work,
milord,” Will said as soon as they entered the room.

Connor closed the door and nodded for him to take a seat by the
fireplace. Someone had been here recently, for a small peat fire burned in the
hearth and a branch of candles on the table by the bed cast a welcoming glow
about the simple chamber. Connor unbuckled his sword belt and set it aside,
then stretched his arms toward the low ceiling. “Share some of that wine and
tell me what you’ve learned.”

Will poured wine into both horns, handed one to Connor and set
the pitcher on the hearth. He sank onto the cushioned settle with a sigh.
“You’ll be well served if you can find someplace else to send d’Athée, and
without delay,” he said. He raised the cup to his lips, lowering it untasted.
“He’s treachery waiting for a chance to strike. Of that I have no doubt.”

Connor tasted the wine, savoring its fragrant warmth before
pulling a rough-hewn chair closer to the fire and easing himself into it. “I
feared as much. He made no secret of his hatred for Lady Moira, both last night
and this morn. And his dislike of the Irish is well known—”

“He’s lucky someone hasn’t slit his throat for him,” Will
countered. “The man’s a fool, no mistake. But he’s the kind who’ll stir up
trouble every chance he gets.” He drained the horn and leaned over to grab up
the pitcher from the hearth. “By all accounts he fair worshipped Lord Brien, to
the point where he was jealous of the man’s wife.” He made a sound of disgust.
“By Saint Winifred’s bones, where’s the sense in that? Most men spend more time
with their men than their wives anyway, save for your brother and Gilles—I’m
sorry, the Lady Gillian,” he added with a grin. “I still have to remind myself
that the ‘lad’ I fought with as a child is ‘my lady’ now, married and a
mother.” He replenished his drink and held the pitcher out, offering it to
Connor, who took it gratefully. “′Twould take a pike to separate her from
Lord Rannulf most of the time.”

“Unlike the
FitzGeralds
. Lord Brien
spent little time with his wife, from what I’ve heard,” Connor said. “She was
naught but breeding stock to him.”

“Yet he didn’t live to see her bear his heir.” Will set aside the
horn and sat forward on the settle, leaning his elbows on his knees, his
expression solemn. “Though there’s some question whether ′tis
FitzGerald’s child she carries, milord.”

“So I’ve heard from the lady herself.” Though Connor knew ′twas
common knowledge, still it felt odd, unsettling, to be discussing the topic
with
Will
. It seemed a betrayal … or an invitation
for Will, for anyone, to see Lady Moira as a woman who had sinned, and whose
husband had died because of it.

Connor didn’t trust himself to remain calm, uninvolved, should
anyone
treat her without respect.

He tried to drown the uncertainty
that
thought engendered with a deep draft of the wine, but it
didn’t help. No woman had ever caused the feelings of protectiveness that
haunted him now.

Not even his mother, when his father had been on one of his
rampages.

Aye, he’d imagined what it would be like to try to bring a halt
to his father’s madness, but he’d never carried the thought to fruition.

He would to protect Lady Moira.

“I don’t want our men—nor the ones here—gossiping about Lady
Moira or her child,” Connor said firmly. “See to it that anyone who does is
sent to me for punishment.”

Will nodded, sending him a surprised look. “Of course, milord.
You know I meant no disrespect by what I said—”

Connor waved a hand to cut off the apology. “I know, Will. You
were doing exactly what I wanted you to do. Given
d’Athée’s
attitude, however, I doubt there’s been any effort to quell the rumors about
their lady. I simply want it understood that any further gossip about her will
not be tolerated.”

He straightened and finished off his wine, realizing how heated
his voice had become. How had this come about? She was a woman like any other,
he told himself. ′Twas normal, fitting, to wish to protect a mother and
her child. But what he felt now went deeper than mere decency.

“Milord, do you want more wine?” Will asked.

Connor started and tightened his grip on the drinking horn. “Nay,
I thank you. I’ve much to consider, and wouldn’t want to muddle my head any
more than usual,” he added with a mirthless laugh.

“Are you all right, milord?” Will’s gaze sharpened. “Can’t let
anything happen to you, else I might as well not bother returning to l’Eau Clair.
Gillian’d
have my head for certain.” His mouth curled
into his usual grin. “Lop it off herself, most like.”

The image of his sister by marriage, sword in hand, helped Connor
force his concerns aside and join in Will’s laughter. “
Aye,
that
she would.” Gillian had brought joy and laughter to his twin, and
some semblance of family to the FitzCliffords when before they’d had none.
Connor had come to care deeply for his brother’s fiery-haired wife.

At least Gillian had Rannulf to watch over her; Lady Moira had no
one.

Connor rose and paced the length of the chamber, stopping by the
window and nudging aside the shutter to look out at the setting sun. Moira
FitzGerald would face her troubles alone no longer.

Like it or not, she’d have Connor FitzClifford as her champion.

He turned to Will. “Tell me what else you learned today. Perhaps
if we pool our information, ′twill become clear what we should do next.”