The Faithful Heart (4 page)

 

 

“That is somewhat overstating the case, my son. Aofa has more
cunning, if not brains, than your give her credit for,” Agatha said
astutely.

 

 

“But I do agree with you, the way Morgana was neglected by her
father was shameful. I can’t help thinking he will regret it one
day. It was unfair of him to blame Morgana for her mother’s death.
She was lucky to have her aunt raise her with Finn and Patrick,
until she of course died.

 

 

“And after Alice died, Morgan took you as foster son, and you never
gave him a day’s trouble. You supported Morgana when she needed it,
and were good to her, helped her blossom and thrive. The five of you
grew strong and upright, straight in both mind and body, while Aofa
sat in her silken parlor."

 

 

She paused, then said hesitantly, "Ruairc, you do forgive me for...”

 

 

Ruairc leaned forward over to take his aunt’s hand. “There was
nothing to forgive. Once Uncle Sean died, you obeyed the higher
calling you felt you had. As you said about my love for Morgana, if
you care for someone, you support the choices they make, even if you
don’t always agree with them. You were a fine mother to an orphaned
boy. My only regret is that Dermot and Brendan weren’t fostered by
Morgan as well, but instead were parcelled out to the O’Reilly
clan.”

 

 

“The family thought at the time that it would heal the rift between
the MacMahons and O’Reillys, perhaps even with them and the
Maguires. We all live so near one another. I can’t help feeling that
it is pointless to raid and kill when we could gain more through
cooperation,” Agatha sighed.

 

 

“Old rivalries die hard, Aunt. And as I’ve said, other forces beyond
our control are at work here. We have good land, and the best
fisheries, which the MacMahons as well as O’Reillys would like to
seize.”

 

 

“Or, they can cut off your lines of communication with the rest of
the country, except by sea, unless you're very careful,” the elderly
nun remarked perceptively, causing Ruairc to stop to consider this
idea, and frown.

 

 

“You may have a point there. If something were to happen to our
ships...”

 

 

“Ruairc, may I remind you, you've only just returned from Dublin. I
see by your use of the words 'we' and 'our' that your loyalties are
clearly on the side of the Maguires. But by birth you are a
MacMahon. In view of what happened two years ago, Morgan’s
forgiveness or no, the rest of the
sept
may not be so
accepting of your presence or interference. They might even think
you're spying for your brothers, and are after Morgana for her land
and wealth.”

 

 

“Especially since my charming brothers are enforcing the dissolution
of the monasteries in the MacMahon territories even as we speak,”
Ruairc revealed.

 

 

His aunt gasped and clutched her side as though she had been
stabbed. "No!"

 

 

“It's true, I'm afraid. Only one or two of the religious houses just
on the border with the Maguire lands to the south to start with, but
I fear it's only the beginning." He shook his head bitterly. "I’m
sorry to say, I don’t know my own family any more. I certainly don’t
know what will happen to our land in the future if this keeps up.”

 

 

“I can't believe Dermot and Brendan would do such a thing!”

 

 

“Greed is an excellent motive for many people’s behavior, as well
you know,” Ruairc pointed out with a grimace.

 

 

They both lapsed into silence, and Agatha sighed deeply. “I thank
you for your candor, my son. Once again, I would warn you of what
will happen if you take Morgana back to Lisleavan.”

 

 

Ruairc sat down with a weary sigh, and shrugged. “I’m glad I've been
able to open my heart to you, for it's cleared things in my own
mind, speaking aloud thoughts and worries I couldn’t voice to
others."

 

 

"Such as?"

 

 

“Honestly, the things I've seen and heard in the past few days since
I came from Dublin go against all I have ever loved or believed in.
My loyalty is ultimately to Morgana, but I have fears for my own
people now that the MacMahons have been driven off their own lands,
and English and Welsh mercenaries are put in their place.

 

 

"I'll be completely candid with you, Aunt. I don’t think I'm strong
enough to stop my brothers myself. But perhaps together, Morgana and
I, and mayhap Finn and Patrick also, if they are willing, can
prevent all we've known and loved from being swept aside."

 

 

"How, my son?"

 

 

He started to pace restlessly in front of the hearth. “My brothers
are siding with the English against their own people, taking King
Henry’s side in the divorce question for their own benefit. He
wanted to marry Anne Boleyn for the sake of a son and heit, but it's
allowing the entire Protestant Reformation to take on a whole new
character.

 

 

"I fear no good will come of any of this. It leaves us all in a
dreadful position regarding Spain’s support for Katherine of Arragon
and the princess Mary, and with the rest of the Catholic countries
on the Continent. This can do the Maguires harm if only from the
trade point of view. As for politics, well, who knows. But I have
the feeling it's only be a matter of time before they move against
the Maguires outright, and we need to be prepared."

 

 

Agatha stared at him in disbelief. "But it's still only winter. The
ground is saturated. And there is the planting--"

 

 

He nodded. “Indeed. We have a little more time. Fortunately, Patrick
and Finn are due back soon, one from the south and the other from
Scotland. With Morgana coming home now, outright confrontation with
my brothers can probably be avoided for the moment. But once the
summer campaigning season starts, the Maguire and MacMahon clans
could very well be at war."

 

 

She crossed herself. “God forbid."

 

 

"Amen."

 

 

She reached out her hand to urge him to sit beside her. He left off
his restless pacing in front of the fire to join her.

 

 

"What will happen if Morgan dies? You say it is poison?” Agatha
demanded.

 

 

“Then Morgana is the heir, as Conor declared. No one else has put
themselves forward. There's been no need, for Morgan was well up
until recently. If he passes, it will be up to her if she decides to
accept the position, or hand it over to Finn or Patrick. I would say
though, that they would both be unwilling to accept. Though Morgana
is only a woman, she is the pick of the whole clan for brains and
skill.”

 

 

“And what will happen if she accepts the clan’s vote of confidence
and becomes the named heir?”

 

 

Ruairc threw his hands wide in despair. “Then she will be in danger
as
tanaist
of the sept, which is right back where this
discussion started. I don’t have all the answers, Aunt Agatha. I
can’t see into the future. All I know is that her father needs her
now.”

 

 

Ruairc began to pace the room once more, running his fingers through
his thick black hair, his lustrous green eyes sparkling in the
firelight.

 

 

At length he declared. “I don’t know if she will trust me, or ever
be able to love me again, but she did once, long ago, of that I'm
sure. Perhaps in time she will again. But I can't break my
confidence. Unless the person responsible tells her where I was on
the day of Conor’s death, I must remain silent upon the subject.

 

 

"But I give you my word, she is the only thing of value I cherish in
this whole world. I will not allow her to be harmed. Nor will I give
her up to the Church, or to another man, without a fight.”

 

 

Morgana’s tap and entrance into the room prevented Agatha from
making any reply. She walked up to the Mother Superior for a
blessing.

 

 

“My prayers are with you and your family, my dear," she said,
resting her hands on Morgana's head. "The Lord will watch over you
and those you love."

 

 

Morgana felt a lump in her throat as she whispered, “I’ll be back
soon, Mother.”

 

 

Morgana felt her hand placed in Ruairc’s strong grip. The sensation
was both entrapping, and oh so right, like she had been on a long
journey, and had at last come home. She removed her fingers from his
clasp gently, though her instinct made her want to jerk them away.
She did not even look at him.

 

 

He gritted his teeth, but schooled himself to be patient. The
mistrust and suspicion of the past two years was not going to be
wiped out in only a few minutes.

 

 

Agatha said softly, “If I never see you again, Morgana, remember I
will always be with you in spirit.”

 

 

Ruairc saw his aunt’s face whiten, and he sat her down in a chair
quickly.

 

 

“You're not ill, are you, Aunt?” Ruairc whispered, as the icy grip
of her gnarled old hand clutched at his arm.

 

 

“Of course not, my son. But none of us can predict the future, now
can we? It is all in the hands of God. Farewell to you both.

 

 

"Ruairc, take her now, and go. Don’t come back unless she insists,
and don’t argue,” Agatha added in an undertone as Ruairc bent to
kiss her wrinkled cheek.

 

 

Ruairc took Morgana by the hand once more. Oddly chastened by
Agatha's words, she went along to the stables as meekly as a lamb.

 

 

"Are you ready, Morgana?" he asked softly.

 

 

He was linking his fingers together near the side of one of the
saddled horses. She knew what he was asking. But there was a great
deal more to his question than whether she would mount the steed.

 

 

She smiled impishly to herself. Taking a few steps to the rear of
the beast, she ran up and jumped, pushing off the beast's great rump
with both hands, to land squarely in the saddle.

 

 

Despite himself, Ruairc laughed. "Not even two years as a novice can
tame your spirit, I see."

 

 

"Nay, nor any man either," she said stiffly, gathering the reins.
She thumped her heels into the horse's side and moved off, leaving
him staring after her with a look of longing that was unmistakable.

 

 

As was the joy in her soul as she headed out of the gates.
Home!
Morgana’s heart sang within her breast.
I’m going home.

 

 

She tried to tell herself that Ruairc being with her had nothing to
do with the sensation, but all the same, as he settled his horse
into an easy canter beside her, it was hard to forget the fact that
he had been so much a part of her life for so many years that them
being together had been like the uniting of two halves of a whole.

 

 

But things changed.
He
had changed, she could see, taking in
his rich clothes, so much more elegant than had been his wont,
making him look far more the idle courtier than the rugged man of
action she had known and loved. The years had been both kind and
harsh to him, for while he looked more handsome and prosperous than
ever, the expression in his eyes was of a man so haunted by the
past, that she felt her icy distance thawing.

 

 

He had suffered too, it was true. His life had to be one of guilt,
torment and loss, for with Conor's death, he had lost his best
friend and love of his life with one fatal stroke of his dagger.

 

 

So then
why
had he done it? In a moment of passion?

 

 

But he was not a stupid man. If he had never thought to be found
out, why would he have left his dagger behind…

 

 

All the old questions she had thought she had finally managed to put
to rest came teeming back again, almost suffocating in their
intensity.

 

 

She pushed them to one side, forcing them out of her mind. She was
not returning to her home for Ruairc's sake. She was going home to
see her father. She would do well to remember her mission and the
vows she was to take shortly. To ever go down the primrose path of
dalliance with Ruairc, the man who had murdered her brother and
abused everyone's trust, was a path absolutely forbidden to her by
God and all Christian decency. She must never forget that, no matter
how seductive his mere presence might be.

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

The ride home to Lisleavan Castle was exhilarating despite being
uneventful. The brisk wind which whipped through the valley from the
Atlantic was invigorating, and the sheer pleasure of riding after
two years was not lost upon her.

 

 

There were other pleasures to be had as well. Though Morgana was
naturally worried about her father, her mind drifted onto other
subjects, one of which was the enigmatic man by her side. In some
ways it seemed a lifetime ago that she and Ruairc had been in love,
yet in others, as though it were only yesterday.

 

 

Oddly, though Morgana had told herself over and over again in the
past two years that she hated Ruairc, that she had had a lucky
escape from marriage to him, the more she looked at him, the more
she wondered why she had ever loathed and feared him.

 

 

Ruairc was a stunning figure in his rust coloured velvet doublet and
fawn riding breeches which fit him like a second skin. As his cloak
rippled backwards in the frigid wind, his broad shoulders and strong
arms bulged through the rich fabric. He still carried himself with
the same noble assurance which had always made her proud to be by
his side.