Lord of the Isle (20 page)

Morgana choked down a cold laugh behind her hand, thinking of how her grandfather had died after being accused of witchcraft. “This is wrong. I can’t stay with you tonight, Hugh.”

Hugh pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. He held her as gently as he’d held her wrist earlier, implying no restraint, intending only comfort.

“What is wrong about it, Morgana? You are safe with me. No harm will come to the boys while Loghran guards them.”

“You don’t understand,” Morgana argued. “And I can’t explain it well.”

Hugh tightened his hands on her shoulders. “I do understand. I’ve been where you’re standing, afraid of everyone, not knowing who I can trust. Let it go, Morgana.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head and refused to meet his eyes. “It’s no use.”

“What is this really about?” Hugh asked. “Tell me. Don’t blame it on a wash of conscience because Loghran gave you the cold shoulder when he went into your room. Tell me the truth for once, Morgana.”

“You think I know the truth? You fool yourself.”

“No, lady. I do not. What is it you want from me? Why did you come back to me? Tell me the truth about that. We’ll work the rest out from that point forward.”

He was asking too much of her. Asking that she go inside herself and look at the motives for her own actions. Morgana refused to do that.

Hugh dragged her up to his mouth, kissing her deeply, passionately, with all the hunger he felt growling for release inside him. He wanted to devour her, taste her, fill her. He denied himself anything more than the taste of her lips yielding to his demand for so much more. Then he set her back from him and dropped his hands to his sides.

“What is it that you fear the most, Morgana?”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, and tried to get back to him. Hugh put out his hand, stopping her. He shook his head.

“What about tomorrow frightens you? Tell me!”

“You won’t be here.”

“I will,” he responded with assurance.

“No, you won’t.” Morgana shook her head. “We are both cast adrift. The bonds holding the rest of the world together by convention are severed by our status as widow and widower. I am fair game. You are a free agent. Nothing binds us.”

“You forgot to mention desire. I want you, Morgana. You fair burn for me.” His hands slid down her arms till he found her hands and brought them up to his lips to kiss each palm.

“It’s a pointless liaison that I should not have allowed to begin. I knew better, Hugh.” Her eyes remained fixed on Hugh’s as she told him her one truth. “You have no future with me. I am an unacceptable choice, even for a leman. Your gillie-priest, or whatever O’Toole is, knows that.”

“You should have the grace to let me be the judge of that.”

“It is the truth. Do you think I can be happy for even a moment, knowing the time will come when you are forced to cast me out? I know what troubles tomorrow brings. I’ve seen it too many times.”

“I’ve already told you, I will be here for you come morning. Come every morning.”

“I would like to believe such a sweet lie, my lord.” Morgana stroked her hand across his smooth cheek, then dropped it to her side.

“It is no sweet lie, my lady.”

“No, my lord, I know better. To love and kiss me brings the curse of the Fitzgeralds to your door. I will not seal your death warrant. I can’t do that to you.” Morgana caught up her clothes from the floor and fled. “I’m sorry, Hugh, I can’t.”

Hugh recaptured Morgana before she reached the adjoining door. He turned her back to the oak, holding on to her struggling hands. “Isn’t it a question of
won’t,
not
can’t?”

Morgana wrenched one hand free of his control. “I refuse to bandy words with you. It’s pointless and impossible. Let me go, Hugh.”

“No. I will not. Did you hear that, lady? I said, I
will
not.”

Hugh caught hold of Morgana’s chin, lifting it till she looked him squarely in the eye. “My lady, that means I am
making a conscious choice to stay with you. It is not whim nor fancy. No queen, with all her power and authority, has ordered me to your bed to service you and bring more loyal subjects into her kingdom. No priest or father of a virgin has caught me in flagrante delicto and driven me to make a guilty vow to love, honor and cherish you all the days of my life. I am here because I want to be here with you.

“You, Morgana Fitzgerald, widow of the late pirate Greg O’Malley, sister to two outlawed lads fleeing Erin for their lives, outcast, whatever you call yourself. I am here, standing beside you, wanting to love you and hold you against me.”

“You’re a fool to risk everything you have for me. I tell you, I am not worth the sacrifice.”

“Pray tell me, Lady Morgana, whose life are we speaking of risking? Whose property? Mine? I own nothing. Yours? I see no properties and deeds attached to your hand. In all truth, my lady, what have I to give you? My body, my mind, my wits. Naught else. I have lived by my wits since I was your brother Sean’s age. I have survived, alone all the years since but for the counsel of a bloody-minded Irish priest. And for the first time in years, I feel alive, truly alive, and part of this world, because being with you makes it so. Stay with me, Morgana. I need you so much, and in my cold, unfeeling heart I believe you also need me.”

His hand cupped her cheek and his mouth touched her trembling lips. As he kissed her, Hugh could taste how strongly her urge to run away from him was. He could no more let her go than he could stop the eternal beating of his heart. She surrounded him, infused him, filled each of his senses, until he was drowning in the need to feel her body throbbing close to his.

Hugh swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down upon the pristine sheeting and removed her shift, then sat back upon his heels, marveling at the splendid generosity of a God who made a woman’s body so beautiful to a man’s eyes.

His only thought was to worship and adore her with his lips, his tongue, his body, soul and mind. Then he realized that what he wanted most of all was just to love her, hold her and satisfy her. If doing that would bind her to him, the rest of his days on this earth would be happy days, halcyon days of splendor and joy.

For Morgana it was the most tender loving she’d ever experienced in her life. Sweet and fulfilling, abolishing for the duration of the night all the demons and shadowy threats that plagued her days.

She didn’t think about her duties, her brothers, her father, or any of their multitude of enemies. She thought only about Hugh and how to please him, satisfy him with hungry kisses and soft, sweetly shared touches.

This loving was all that truly mattered in life—being bound to a good man. Hugh had made his choice to stay through her darkest night. And if they loved hard enough and long enough, perhaps tomorrow morning would never come.

T
he chamber was very, very dark. Maurice woke up hungry. He didn’t know where he was. Momentary panic sat him bolt upright. A fearful scream crept up the back of his throat. Then Sean stirred beside him. His warm hand soothingly patted Maurice’s back. Sean mumbled, “Go back to sleep, Maury. ’Tis early yet.”

Reassured, Maurice knuckled the sleep from his eyes. He yawned so deeply his jaws cracked. When he took his knuckle out of his eye, he saw that the window above the bed was open. Maurice got up, standing on the mattress to peer out into the predawn night. Nothing looked familiar about the broad river coursing beside the building where he was sleeping.

Not so much as the faintest glow of sunrise lightened the inky night sky. Maury scratched his belly and got up, tiptoeing about, seeking the chamber pot. He almost stumbled over a big man sleeping on the floor.

Maurice hunkered down so that he could bring his face close enough to the snoring man to identify him. It was the very tall Loghran O’Toole.

Satisfied by that conclusion, Maurice stepped over Loghran to reach the chamber door. There would be a privy outside. He had only to find it then come back to bed. Sean would get him something to eat. Maury knew how to be patient.

He closed the door ever so softly, so that he wouldn’t wake Loghran or Sean. Maurice strained his eyes, making out several other doors along the narrow hall that dropped by a stairwell into the common room of the inn. All was quiet below, save for the snoring of the men sleeping there.

Maury’s bare feet made no noise as he padded through the common room. Outside, the air was damp and cool. Fog rose from the river. Its tendrils feathered out like a wet blanket across the yard, clinging to the ground and the bases of each building.

Overhead, the starry night was crystal-clear, and a quarter moon cast dim light on the earth, showing Maurice the way to the privy. Maury hated going inside a privy—they were dark and rank, unpleasant things. He took a deep breath, determined to hold it for as long as it took to relieve himself, then ducked behind the door.

James Kelly jerked when Corporal Williams jabbed his fist between his ribs. “Sir!” the young soldier hissed in an excited whisper. “Wake up. A boy just left the inn!”

“Wha’?” Kelly shot upright, looking blindly around him, numb with fatigue. He’d been trailing Hugh O’Neill with only one untrained corporal backing him up. He had yet to find another complement of English soldiers to draft more men from, and wouldn’t until he reached Derry, or backtracked all the way through Ulster to Carrickfergus.

Williams poked him in the ribs again and pointed across the foggy yard. “Sir, a boy just went inside the privy. I’d stake my soul on his being a redhead, sir.”

“Is that so?” Groggily Kelly hauled himself out of the haystack. He straightened his jacket and drew his sword, then crept to the door of the stable, shouldered Williams aside and looked out.

Not that there was anything to see, save more Irish mud, broken harness trees and garbage.

“How’d you know his hair was red?”

“The moon, sir.” Williams pointed to the pale orb rising in the east. “Late-rising quarter moon tonight, sir. I saw him plain as day.”

Kelly slumped against the door frame and scowled into the stable’s depths as he scratched vigorously at his hair. Of thirty horses boarded here, he recognized only one, that prime Arabian mare that belonged to Morgana Fitzgerald. He hadn’t laid an eye on the woman.

His teeth set on edge. He had racked his brain for a suitable means of taking the woman captive without risking his own recapture by the O’Neill. Kelly had gone to sleep trying to work out some solution to that dilemma. Now this fool corporal had woken him up to tell him a redheaded boy had to take a piss.

Kelly dragged his hand over his face. “How old is the boy?”

“Five, six maybe. A little fellow.”

Kelly held back the urge to brain Corporal Williams. Good soldiers were made, not born. “Listen to me, young man, the woman I’m looking for might be accompanied by a boy, but he’d be nine or ten years old by now. I’d take it as a personal favor to me if you’d just stand your watch and let me get a few hours’ sleep. I’m after bigger quarry than pissing six-year-olds, understand? Wake me when you see people stirring about the common room. We’ll need time to saddle up and get into position to follow O’Neill. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir, Captain Kelly. I’ve got it right now. I’ll keep a sharp eye out for an older boy.”

“You do that,” Kelly grumbled as he retreated to the haystack. He sheathed his sword before he laid down and closed his eyes. Walsingham always saddled him with imbeciles. Just once in his career, he’d like the chance to work with someone competent and capable.

Maurice didn’t return upstairs directly. He knew he should have done so, but he hadn’t seen anything when they
arrived the night before. He wanted to explore and discover things, sample the ale in the common room, find out how many horses were inside the stable and discover whether there were any whores in this particular establishment.

The sun was definitely on the rise when he scurried back up the stairs. He was worried, too, because he reckoned he’d been gone too long. Sean might notice. Maury knew better than to do anything that would make Sean mad. He’d smack the eternal daylights out of Maurice.

Sure enough, the moment Maury’s bare feet touched the cold planks of the upper floor, Sean let loose a bloodcurdling scream that would have woken the dead two counties away.

“Uh-oh!” Maury whispered. He froze on the landing, staring down the long, dark hall, wondering where he was going to hide. Anyplace in the world would do. Maurice opened the first door he came to and jumped behind it, shutting the door hard.

He was so intent on listening to Sean’s screams, trying to make out what he was saying, that he didn’t notice the commotion he’d started behind him.

Morgana shoved Hugh off her and sat bolt upright. “What is it?” Hugh asked sleepily.

“Someone’s come in the room.”

“What?” Hugh rolled over, cocking his ear to the sound of bashing and footsteps and somebody shouting…next door. Some of the words were low and deep—a man’s voice. The other was a shriek, like a woman’s, but not exactly.

Hugh sat up and reached for his trews. He hadn’t quite got hold of them before the connecting door between the rooms burst open. Morgana yelped and grabbed the covers up to her throat.

Loghran O’Toole ducked through the doorway, carting someone rolled up inside a quilt. He stomped across the small room and dumped his burden onto Hugh’s bed. “Damn my soul to hell and back again, O’Neill. You started
this. You’ll damn well make it right. Deal with this brat. He thinks I’ve killed his brother.”

Morgana drew back against the bedstead. Sean fought his way out of the quilting, heaping the worst sort of curses on Loghran’s eternal soul.

Maurice whispered, “Uh-oh,” and slithered into a heap against the hallway door.

Hugh lighted a candle just as Sean’s head emerged from the swaddling. The boy sputtered all sorts of words, but then went silent as a stone when he spied Hugh’s sleep-tousled hair and angry visage, and Morgana’s face, pale against the headboard.

“What’s this about?” Hugh demanded tersely.

“That monster devoured my bro…” Sean’s voice petered out as he realized what exactly he was seeing. “Morgana, where are your clothes?”

Hugh restated his demand. “I asked what all the shouting is about, boy. You’d better give me a straight answer now.”

Sean gulped. His head swiveled about, and he found Maury cowering behind his hands and knees.

“Jesu!” Sean gasped. “Maurice James Fitzgerald, what in the name of creation are you doing there?”

Morgana tilted her head to the side, blinking, staring past Sean’s shoulder. Maurice peeked through his fingers and whispered, “I didn’t see nothin’! Honest to God!”

Sean climbed off the bed, trailing the quilt around his legs, screaming, “Damn you, Maury, ya scared me half to death! I thought that Viking murdert you! Where’d you go?” Sean dropped down to the floor beside Maurice and dragged the little boy to his chest. He shook him hard, and then, wrapping his arms around Maurice’s head, he crooned to him, a litany of “It’s all right, it’s all right. I’m not mad, I’m scared.”

Hugh got his trews pulled up his legs and stood to fasten them. Morgana found her shift and dragged it over her head. As Hugh shoved his arms inside his shirt, Sean looked
him square in the eye and did the impossible; he apologized. “I’m sorry, sir. I woke up and Maury was gone. It scared me. I didn’t know he was in here with you.”

Hugh threw the curtains back and opened the window, letting rosy daylight spill inside the chamber and the brisk morning breeze off the sea. The fresh air also removed some of the ripe scent of sex from the closed room. To Hugh’s chagrin, it didn’t go far enough.

He stood back a moment, blinking, as he stared at the stable yard. What he’d thought he’d seen wasn’t there. He turned around to deal with Morgana’s brothers. They were the reality, the human reality. A flash of red darting round the edge of the stable back to the river could be anything.

Hugh stamped into his boots and said, “Right, lads. Which one of you wants to explain first?”

Morgana tucked the sheet into a toga and stood up.

“On second thought…” Hugh stepped before her, accurately deducing that she would go to any length to protect those boys. This situation, Hugh decided, needed to be handled man-to-man. “Boys, both of you come with me. Lady Morgana needs time to dress.”

Hugh secured both boys and hauled them out the doorway into the hall. The last glimpse Hugh had of Morgana was of her jaw sagging another inch in shocked surprise.

They sat on the stairs, Maurice and Sean on the top step, Hugh on the third one down. “What happened, Sean?”

“Like I s-s-said,” Sean stuttered, “I woke up and Maury was gone. O’Toole was sleeping across the door, so I asked him where Maury’d gone. He just grunted and didn’t answer, so I clobbered him.”

“Sounded to me like I heard more than one clobber,” Hugh said.

“Ya might have.” Sean wasn’t going to condemn himself with his own mouth. He’d done some kicking and cussing, too. “The thing is, he threw his quilt over me, and I thought he was going to murder me, too.”

“I see.” Hugh stroked his jaw. His day-old beard rasped against his fingertips.

“Then he dumped me on top of you.” At that point, Sean shied away from looking at Hugh as he added, “And Morgana.”

Keeping this conversation on the business at hand, Hugh turned his gaze to Maurice. “And where were you, little man?”

“I had ta go to the privy.” Maurice would not raise his head from his folded arms.

“Get off, Maury, me and O’Toole were fighting for nearly a half hour.” Sean hit him in the shoulder. “You were gone too long just for a trip to the privy.”

“I was.” Maury defended himself verbally as he rubbed his shoulder. “I got sort of distracted. Lord O’Neill, there’s two redcoats sleeping in the stable.”

Sean drew in a hissing breath and hit Maury hard. “You little liar, don’t go making things up just so you don’t get a skelping.”

Hugh put out a stilling hand, intercepting Sean’s fist. “I don’t believe I asked you to pound your brother to a pulp, Sean. So, you were distracted by soldiers, Maurice. How many were there?”

“For the love of God,” Sean swore. “Don’t get him started, sir. Maury sees redcoats everywhere. He’s a bloody chickenheart, he is.”

“Two.” Maurice looked up at Hugh with watery blue eyes, so identical to Morgana’s that whatever animosity Hugh retained at the intrusion in his bedchamber evaporated.

“Can you describe them?” Hugh kept his voice soft.

“Umm…” Maury nodded. “Old.”

“How old? As old as I?”

“Umm,” Maury frowned. “More like Macmurrough.”

“Who’s Macmurrough?” Sean asked, exasperated.

Hugh waved a silencing hand. “Right, then, what about the other one. Is is big or tall? Fat or skinny?”

“His name is Williams, and he’s like Rory, only he’s got a red coat on, and a long sword and black boots.”

“Did you hear the other man’s name?”

“Oh, um, Captain, maybe. I dunno.”

“Captain.” Hugh repeated that word out loud. He got to his feet, towering over both boys, even though he stood on the steps below them. “Sean, take Maurice back inside your room and tell Loghran I want to talk to him out here in the hall. And, boys, both of you are to stay inside the room until I come for you and Morgana. I’ll have some food sent up. Understand?”

Sean understood that the interview was now over. He stood up and discovered that, on the landing, he was nearly eye-to-eye with the O’Neill. That restored his determination to speak his mind.

“Sir, we need to speak man-to-man about my sister. I see that you have something else on your mind, so I will table the discussion for a more opportune moment, but I will not, under any circumstances, allow my family honor to be tabled indefinitely.”

“Is that a challenge to a duel I’m hearing?” Hugh asked incredulously.

“I believe so, sir.” Sean put his arm around Maurice and walked away, leaving Hugh O’Neill to make whatever he would of Sean’s most serious words.

Loghran found Hugh still grinning when he caught up with him in the common room. “What’s going on?”

“We’re being spied upon.” Hugh shook Kermit awake and roused Brian and Rory. “I believe Kelly is trailing us. Go out and have a look, lads. Loghran go down to the church and find out if there have been any English troops moving through the area in recent days. Luck may be with us. I don’t believe Kelly’s found any reinforcements, else he’d have attacked us in force on the road. And while you’re at chapel, O’Toole, see if you can hire three or four red-haired altar boys to ride with us to Dunluce. Report back to me in one hour, saddled and ready to ride.”

The bells signaling the end of morning mass were ringing when Morgana and her brothers came out of the inn to mount up for the last day’s ride to Dunluce. Hugh, carrying her saddlebags, slung the heavy pack onto Ariel’s saddle and fastened the straps.