Lord of the Isle (23 page)

“Hugh!” Morgana panicked. She gathered up her skirts and ran to Cara, caught hold of the girl’s arm and dragged her to Hugh. “Hugh! Hugh! Dear God, those boys just told me this child has the sight! There’s a fleet of warships coming. Cara says it’s the
Revenge.
Did you bring your spyglass?”

“Och! Lemme go!” Cara Mulvaine twisted her arm to escape Morgana’s detaining hand. “Ya ain’t supposed ta touch me.”

“Be quiet, child,” Morgana told her. “Hurry, Hugh. Look. Tell me it isn’t Drake. Tell me those ships aren’t English.”

Hugh was one step ahead of her, positioned high on the rocks, taking a good long look through his spyglass. While he did that, Morgana waved everyone in from the outer rocks.

Dunluce stood three full miles back, across the open, unprotected beach. Morgana searched the cliff face, seeking any kind of trail that would get them quickly to the top. She couldn’t think what they’d do if the guns on a warship started firing at the beach. Where would they hide? How could they survive a barrage of cannon?

“Put your caps on, all of you! Hide your red hair!” Morgana shouted. Fear edged her voice. “It isn’t the
Avenger.
I’d know Grace’s black sails anywhere. None of those sails are black. Tell me, Hugh. I’ve got to know.”

“Calm down, Morgana,” Hugh snapped the glass closed and returned it to his pocket. His jaw was set, his mouth grim. “They’re just carracks and caravels.”

“Just carracks!” She choked. “A carrack carries thirty guns. They’re not supposed to be here. Not today! Heaven help us! Come, Cara honey, hurry! We’d better run.”

Hugh took hold of Morgana’s arm. “Don’t alarm the children, Morgana. We walked down here. We’ll walk back. Donald, get the boys moving ahead of you. Ho, Thomas, we’re going back to Dunluce.”

“Lemme go! I don’t wanna burn!” Cara Mulvaine sank what teeth she had into the back of Morgana’s hand.

Morgana let go of the little girl’s arm and yelped. Cara took off running. Morgana looked for dripping blood. Hugh collared Thomas from Colraine. The procrastinating boy needed an impetus to follow orders. A swat to his butt got him listening.

“I can’t believe that child bit me!” Morgana exclaimed as she tied a handkerchief over the wound Cara had left in her hand.

“I can’t believe you brought all these brats down here with us, when you know I wanted to be alone with you.”

Incensed, Morgana shouted back,
“Vous êtes impossible!”

Then she refused to leave her beautiful shells behind. She ripped the scarf off her head and made a satchel for the shells. Hugh couldn’t get her to leave until she’d collected every one and threaded her arm through the cloth bundle.

“Let’s go, Morgana, now!” he shouted. His spyglass had confirmed the prey the English fleet was after. Far out in the deep water, the black sails of Grace O’Malley’s
Avenger
tacking hard to port, making a desperate run for the open seas. “Lady, I said now!”

Those words had no more than left Hugh’s mouth then all hell broke loose. Seven guns on the
Revenge
fired, one right after the other.

“Play the man, Master Ridley; we shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.”

Addressed to Nicholas Ridley (1500-1555) as they were being burned alive at Oxford, for heresy, October 16, 1555.

Hugh Latimer

T
he boom of cannon fire put purpose in Morgana’s movements. Hugh no longer had to urge her to get moving, he had to run hard to keep up with her. She bolted in a desperate attempt to get off the promontory of stone that jutted so far out into the open sea. She fled back to Dunluce, with one thought in mind. To get her brothers off Sorely Mac Donnell’s ships!

Her first burst of fear-driven speed took her as far as the opening of the cove. Dunluce was still a difficult mile west, through wet sand and descending dark.

A sharp pain throbbed in Morgana’s side, telling her to stop. She couldn’t rest for one heartbeat. Her brothers were on Sorely Mac Donnell’s ships. Sir Francis Drake was bearing down upon the Mac Donnell’s harbor. The danger pushed her past her usual endurance.

Gasping for breath, she came to the stone wharf cut into the hideaway harbor. She caught herself from collapsing by grasping hold of a wooden upright on the short pier. She dashed her sleeve across her eyes, clearing them, panting hard, trying to restore her breath.

The barrage of cannon drummed erratically. It wasn’t her imagination. The crescendo of booming noise was closer, more distinct, and louder than thunder.

The boys from Colraine came running behind her. Hugh, Donald the Fair and Rory and Brian O’Neill were only steps
behind them. Morgana cupped her hands to her mouth and tried to shout, to hail the nearest of the ten ships moored in Sorely Boy Mac Donnell’s bay.

She had no wind. Her voice rasped out of her expended lungs, a breathless croak. Mac Donnell’s vassals and retainers had heard the cannonade and come pouring out through Dunluce’s sea gate. Morgana felt a measure of relief on discovering Loghran O’Toole and Shamus Fitz were with them.

Darkness slid over the water fast, complete and total, all at once. While men shouted and boys yelled, Morgana jumped from the stony wharf onto a currach. She didn’t have the breath to yell a warning, but she had the strength to row a currach out to the ships. God willing, she’d get her voice back quickly.

“Just what do you thing you are doing, lady?” Hugh got his hands on the currach’s mooring rope before Morgana did.

Morgana picked up the tiny round craft’s paddle instead. She explained, “Got…to…warn…the…ships….”

“It’s being done as we speak.” Hugh’s voice took on a dreadful authority. “Give me your hand, Morgana. You’re retiring…inside the castle, where it’s safe.”

“I’m not…going anywhere…” she gasped, “without…my brothers!”

“Morgana, don’t make me use force.” Hugh took hold of the paddle and removed it from her hands. The currach tipped. Water swirled inside it, wetting Morgana’s hems and boots. Hugh caught her wrist when she reached for the paddle. She was so upset she didn’t realize the twig-and-goatskin craft was filling with water at her feet.

Hugh’s gentle but firm grip on her forearm was all the hold he needed to haul her tiny boat back to the wharf.

Loghran O’Toole cupped his hands to his mouth. His voice boomed over the water, alerting the nearest ship to the coming danger. One of Mac Donnell’s retainers held up a
lamp, opening and closing the door of it, signaling the farthermost caravels.

Hugh lifted Morgana clear of the tipping currach and set her on the steps beside him. “Hush now, my love. The boys will be back in plenty of time. Don’t be frightened. Dunluce is impregnable.”

“You’re dreaming if you think that.” Morgana shuddered, but she clung to him even as she spoke. She wanted to believe the castle could withstand anything. She knew better. Maynooth had been reduced to rubble by English cannons in a matter of hours.

“I am positive of it.” Hugh cupped her face between both of his hands and kissed her. He let his lips give her confidence and soothe her terror. She calmed somewhat, and her breathing slowed. Hugh hugged her and smoothed loosened tendrils of her fiery hair away from her face. “You’ll be all right. The boys will be fine. I promise you.”

“Oh, Hugh!” Morgana cried out, close to tears. “You’re so calm, so solid. You’re my rock.”

“Here now, love, look—Inghinn Dubh is here. See how calm she is. Inghinn knows there is nothing to panic over. Dunluce has been put to siege a hundred times. We all know exactly what to do. Inghinn, sweet, take Morgana to the solar. I’ll send the boys up as soon as they are back on land. I promise.”

“Oh, Hugh, what will you do?” Morgana let Inghinn put her arm around her waist.

“Whist,” Inghinn said as she led Morgana away from the commotion and up to the sea gate. “You know how men are, dear. They don’t like explaining themselves until after they’ve acted.”

If that wasn’t a truism, then Morgana didn’t know what was. The people of Dunluce weren’t alarmed that English warships were bringing battle into their domain. They’d been through this same drill too many times of late.

Once they reached the solar, Morgana found all of Dunluce’s womenfolk standing at the mullioned window, looking out over the sea.

Dunluce’s harbor was difficult to see, because the cliff hid it partially from view. The battle wasn’t happening in the cove. It was happening out in plain sight on the open water. Except it was dark as pitch out there. The moon wouldn’t rise until nearly morning. Starlight offered no help visually. But each time a gun fired, the flash of gunpowder allowed the women to pinpoint the constantly moving combatants.

“What’s going to happen?” Morgana wanted to know. “What brought this on? How did the English know we were here?”

Inghinn pulled Morgana away from the window. She sat her down on a chaise and handed her a hot cup of milk, well laced with Dunluce whiskey.

“Drink this, Morgana. It will calm you and stop your shivering.” Morgana gulped the drink. It burned and made her cough. Inghinn sat beside Morgana and held her own cup between her white hands. “You mustn’t think the English are after you.”

“Oh, but they are!” Morgana insisted. “My brothers are outlawed by an act of proscription.”

“Tell me what son of Ireland isn’t?” Inghinn replied. “You shouldn’t take warships personally. They can’t know from such a distance who’s ashore.”

“They could. There are spies and traitors everywhere.”

“Well, I wish I could say that’s not gospel, but I know better. We’ve been through a dozen nights like this since Ash Wednesday. It’s my father’s fault, you see. He’s at war with Queen Elizabeth, and Drake in particular. They can’t agree on who has the right to the sea. Father’s too stubborn for his own good.”

“That has nothing to do with me or the boys. Grace O’Malley was coming here to Dunluce to pick up the boys
and take them to France. She’s supposed to be here tonight.”

“I’m certain she will be.” Inghinn said with purpose. “Grace is always prompt.”

“She won’t come with an English fleet out there.”

“The fleet is supposed to be at Glenarm, my eldest brother’s castle, on the east coast of Antrim. It’s been under siege the past twenty days. Don’t ask me why they’ve come back to Dunluce. Someone must have told Drake that Father pulled all his ships home to refit them.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. There are English spies everywhere in Ireland.”

“And that’s a fact of life, Morgana. But you shouldn’t be worried about their presence here. It just means we are in for a noisy night. Not even the infamous Captain Drake has the firepower to actually strike the manse. The cliff is too high, and the rocks will keep all of his ships at a good distance.”

“Not if he gets into your father’s harbor.”

“He won’t,” Inghinn Dubh said with authority. “We’ll be fine.”

Whether it was the toddy or Inghinn Dubh’s calm assurance that pacified Morgana, she couldn’t have said. But after reflecting on the probability of cannonballs rising the full height of the cliff to bring down the roof, Morgana relaxed.

Antrim wasn’t the flat meadowland of county Kildare. Antrim sat high above the sea, on cliffs, cut deeper and deeper each year by the waves of the sea.

Feeling a little chagrined, Morgana allowed Inghinn to take her to a bedchamber to change her skirts and stockings for dry garments.

When they returned to the solar, Morgana joined the watchers at the window, determined to content herself with observation, not despair.

Rory O’Neill escorted all five boys up to the solar and turned them over to the women. He requested that they keep all of them out from under the men’s feet. None of the boys
would be any use in defending Dunluce, Roy explained, though he assured each boy he’d make a fine soldier when he grew taller and stronger.

“You should have come with us to the ships, Morgana!” Sean chirped excitedly. “They’re better than Grace’s old trap. Twice as big, too! The caravels’ holds are enormous! You wouldn’t believe how many tons of cargo can be stored inside them. Sorley said I could be a cabin boy now. He’s got ships that sail to the Windwards. Two have been round the Cape of Good Hope, to someplace called Madagascar. Grace never sails farther than the Canaries.”

“The Mac Donnell’s got cannons on his drum towers!” Maurice added. His eyes were huge with wonder. “He says if Drake comes close enough, he’ll blow the
Revenge
to kingdom come.”

“I’m hungry,” Sean said, interrupting him. His candid statement brought a storm of agreement from the other boys.

Feeding them gave the women something to do. Supper had gotten sidetracked by cannon fire.

The Mac Donnell’s daughters hustled the servants away from doorways and windows and back to work. The hall was lighted with torches and the food brought to the table. Morgana took charge of making certain the boys washed before they all went downstairs together.

Cara Mulvaine was already to table. Seated in her grandfather’s high-backed chair, she had helped herself to a platter full of crisply roasted drumsticks and scones topped with cheese. Three stripped bones were piled beside her pewter plate, leaving grease stains on the table linen.

“Cara!” one of her aunts scolded. “You’ve come to the table filthy! Go and wash your dirty face and hands!”

“Wha’ for?” she mumbled around a mouthful of chicken.

James Mac Donnell’s wife had no intention of taking back talk from a child. She marched onto the dais, headed straight for Cara.

Maurice halted behind a pillar in the hall, tugging on Morgana’s hand, stopping her. “She’s gonna get a skelping for sure, isn’t she?”

“And well she should,” Morgana said briskly. “It’s bad manners to eat before company, and worse manners to talk back to your elders.”

The eight-year-old girl was no fool. She saw her aunt coming and ducked out of reach under the table. She popped up from under the long drape of linen several feet away from the Mac Donnell’s chair. She had a chicken leg in each fist. Her head turned from side to side, and then she chose her route of retreat and ran as fast as a rabbit from the hall.

A door to the kitchen slammed in her wake. Arliss Mac Donnell muttered under her breath as she took the dirty plate and the pile of chicken bones from the table.

“That child is going to be the death of me,” she said to Morgana, by way of apologizing for the girl’s behavior.

“Of all of us,” Inghinn lamented. “Haps now you can see why I said she’s wild as the wind. No one can control her, and God knows, Father tries. Come, Lady Morgana, sit you down. Boys, there’s plenty of room here on the benches. We won’t stand on ceremony tonight, but we will say our prayers as soon as we are all to the table.”

Morgana sat to the long bench and was immediately flanked by her brothers. The Colraine boys filled the left end of the bench. The Dunluce ladies lined up opposite.

The meal began as soon as the oldest of Sorely’s daughters-in-law finished saying the blessing, with a spontaneous addendum extolling the virtues of the warriors battling outside the great hall.

“God and O’Neill rout the English,” Maurice added.

“Amen!” Sean concurred in a strong, sure voice.

Morgana tipped her head to the side, looking at Sean as Inghinn handed him a large plate of steaming breaded fish. “So, you’re on speaking terms with God again, are you, Sean?”

He set the plate down on top of his and crossed himself quickly.

“Aye, sister,” he answered solemnly, hands busy with the concentrated work of selecting his choice and moving the fish to his plate. He passed the fish to Morgana and continued speaking. “I’ve had the opportunity to reconsider my words.”

“And what have you concluded?” Morgana inquired. She put a fillet on her plate and offered the dish to Maurice.

“I’ve concluded that I was speaking when I shouldn’t have. Maurice reminded me how many times I’ve called on the Lord and he’s answered my prayers. I shouldn’t doubt his existence. It was wrong of me not to have faith, just because I was tired and wanted to eat. Please pass the peas, Lady Inghinn.”

“He’s not telling the whole truth,” Maurice chirped from Morgana’s opposite side.

“And how do you know that, squirt?” Sean cast a dark look in Maurice’s direction, which Maurice didn’t see, because he was occupied with picking the biggest piece of chicken from the platter before him.

“The O’Neill said he’d skelp you if you said there wasn’t a God again.”

“You didn’t say that to him, did you?” Morgana asked, aghast at the thought of her brother publicly denying the existence of the Almighty.

“Not exactly.” Sean ducked his head and started eating. “It just came up in our man-to-man discussion.”

Intrigued and horrified, Morgana had to know more details about this. “And just what was this man-to-man discussion about?”

“Marriage, honor, duty, and lots of other important man things.” Sean crammed a chicken leg in his mouth, stopping the flow of further words with food.

“Where babies come from, mostly.” Maurice supplied the missing topic in a blithe soprano voice that carried to the rafters like the high notes of a hymn during mass.

Young Thomas set down the last bowl to make the rounds and asked in an incredulous voice, “Did the O’Neill tell ya where ya get ’em?”

“No,” Maurice answered solemnly. “He didn’t hafta. Me and Sean already seen how it’s done.”