Emerald Prince (48 page)

“Aye, my husband, I missed your touch,” she murmured, leaning over to whisk her lips across his. She was careful to hide her disgust — he reeked of ale and sour sweat. Her nose wrinkled in protest, but she held her breath and forced herself to imagine Quintin groping her instead.

With a moan, O’Connor grabbed her and massaged her breast through the velvet of her gown. He often pawed serving wenches thusly, but Duvessa revolted against manhandling before an audience. She saw O’Connor’s bastard brothers smirking at her predicament as they dined at the table below the salt. She dared not refuse her lord husband, but neither did she wish to end up publicly rutting in the hall.

“Oh milord, it has been too long,” she gasped, clutching his soiled tunic as he yanked her bodily from her seat, onto his lap.

“Aye, woman,” O’Connor growled, burying moist lips against her neck. He felt her shudder, but neither of them mistook it for one of pleasure. With dogged intent, he unlaced the bodice of her gown while the other diners looked on.

Noting Dermot’s shock, O’Connor paused and called out, “Best take notes, lad. You might learn how to handle a lively bitch like your mother.” Dermot reddened, and Ragallach and Bregon hooted and hollered encouragement.

“’Tis said O’Flaherty wenches run hot,” Bregon called out.

With a grunt, O’Connor buried his face between Duvessa’s breasts. Others in the hall stared uncomfortably and a few snickered at the lewd scene playing out before them, yet none gainsaid their lord’s desires.

Bile rose in Duvessa’s throat as he exposed and kneaded her breasts, suckling upon one nipple and then the other.

“Please, Cathal, let us retire to our chamber,” she begged, horrified when he yanked up her skirts and groped her backside as well.

 He bit her nipple in reply, and when she cried out he looked at her, grinning malevolently.

“Why?” he demanded. “I hear you do not play so coy the vixen with visitors, and I am your lord husband, after all.”

Duvessa nearly swooned in his arms. Had someone betrayed her? How much did he know?

Cautiously she said, “I but seek to elevate our status, Cathal. I would have O’Connor hospitality be known as legendary.”

He gave a shout of laughter. “Oh, ’tis already legendary, my dear. We shall be fending off everyone from abbots to serfs with your brand of hospitality.”

Duvessa gasped in outrage. O’Connor pawed at her, seeming intent on humiliating her before the entire assembly. He mauled her while his cruel grip kept her in place. He ripped her skirts in his haste, and she almost feared he was going to kill her in the frenzy of anger and lust.

When she continued to fend off his drunken advances, he finally gave a gutteral growl of disgust and shoved her off his lap. She landed hard on her backside as the onlookers roared with laughter.

“I’ve had five-pence whores who bored me less,” he said, taking a deep swig of the ale in his tankard.

“Aye,” she taunted him from the floor. “The last one’s name was Caireen.”

A collective gasp echoed in the hall. Too late. O’Connor reached down and cuffed her, his red hand sending her sprawling across the dais.

Duvessa stared with hatred at him, touching her bloodied mouth. She straightened her torn gown with icy dignity, rose and relaced her bodice as if it was every day she found herself mauled and brutalized before others. Head held high, she turned and descended from the dais, ignoring the coarse sniggers in her wake.

As she passed the table where Dermot sat, her son reached out and grasped her wrist. “Mother, are you all right?” His voice held concern, but his eyes gleamed with a feverish light. She realized the scene had excited him.

“Of course,” she replied, licking the blood from the corner of her mouth. “I am always delighted to serve my lord husband.” She spoke lightly and loudly for the benefit of the onlookers, who expected her to display a measure of shame or anger. A surprised murmur ran through the assembly, for the lady seemed cool as a queen to the manner born.

Bestowing an arch smile upon the others, Duvessa gathered her shredded skirts and swept regally across the hall. Pausing at the doorway, she glanced back. Her last look was for the man slumped, snoring loudly, upon the high seat.

Forget poisoning by slow degrees. She would find a way to kill him, and soon.

Chapter Thirty-two

A
LIANOR CHAFED AT THE
slow, steady pace of the donkey. She needed to go faster, and put greater distance between her and the castle she left behind. But the animal kept plodding along, his gait as maddening as his stubborn refusal to cross any streams or creeks. This forced her to keep to main roads or well-traveled paths. She swallowed a frustrated groan. The tickle of her short whip did little to encourage him to go faster.

A fast horse would have been preferable; a quicker means to reach Wolf Haven. But, as the priest the Queen had entrusted to aid her had explained, she would be far less conspicuous dressed as a monk, and Cistercians here did not ride horses. They rode donkeys.

She bit back her curses and allowed the little animal his deliberate jogging gait. She had no choice. Turrean settled into an easy stride and loped along behind them. The grueling pace gave her opportunity to mull over a suitable name for the obstinate beast. Before long, she dubbed him John.

The hours wore on, and Alianor was resigned to the crawling speed of reaching her destination. Though she was certain she would have no more teeth. By then they would be jarred loose from every awkward bounce John dished up to her backside.

It was nearly dark by the time she reached Cill Dara. Camber’s last words at the tournament continued to roll about in her mind — the great lady’s bird watches over it.

As the sun started to sink behind the distant hills, Alianor urged John to go faster. Without light, she would be forced to wait until morning to search. When they finally reached the stone tower, Alianor slid from the donkey and tied him to a tree so he wouldn’t wander off.

She hiked up her white robes and circled the tower’s base several times, searching. The encroaching darkness created a sense of urgency. High above her was the entrance to the tower, but it was too far to reach without a ladder. She was fairly certain Camber couldn’t have hidden it inside.

Concentrating on the outside, Alianor walked the tower’s perimeter, taking more time to look for any clues to where the cross might be hidden. Nothing caught her eye and desperation touched her. The shadows grew long as the sun dipped further down. Turrean remained close at hand, loyally following her every move.

“St. Brigid, please help me,” Alianor called out. She felt a little foolish at first, but repeated the plea as she continued to circle the tower. Once, twice, three times. She heard a falcon’s cry and looked up. It was St. Brigid’s bird, Alianor knew it in her heart. But she could not see it as darkness fell over her. Twilight wrapped the earth in its cloak, leaving her to despair. She sank to the ground, weariness like a lead weight upon her. Turrean sat beside her, but the dog whined and placed her paw upon her arm, looking past her mistress.

Alianor followed Turrean’s gaze and spotted a tree branch leaning against the stone tower. She had passed it numerous times, seeing yet not seeing it, for many twigs and branches littered the ground. She crawled closer and saw it was not naturally formed. Someone had fashioned it from two smaller branches. White linen cloth entwined them to form a cross, its base pushed into the earth where it stood.

She heard the falcon’s cry again and dug into the ground with her bare hands. Turrean seemed happy to help and pawed at the earth with much greater success.

A foot or so down, Alianor touched something in the loose soil. Something hard. Carefully, she pulled the object free and shook the dirt off the rough linen it was wrapped in. When she unfolded the cloth, her breath caught at the sight.

Praise Jesu, it was the cross. Little light remained, but she swore the emerald jewel flashed, and faded to a dark, green-black to match the sky. Alianor remained on her knees, staring at the golden symbol of hope. This time, recognition flooded her. Understanding dawned and she rocked back on her heels, astonished.

“
Seòd Fios
.” The words she whispered familiar on her tongue. She could not deny the truth any longer. “The Jewel of Knowledge.”

Memories swarmed her, a sensation like coming home. It felt good, no longer strange and frightening. Her whole life she had been told she was English, the daughter of Lord and Lady Fitz-Thomas. Now, within this precious object, she beheld and understood her long Irish ancestry with clarity. It took her back. All the way back to its creation.

Mixed feelings followed the initial warmth of knowing. She clutched the cross to her breast, and wept. If only she had understood and believed Felicity earlier. Perhaps Liam wouldn’t be in prison, and Camber wouldn’t be dead. She wanted to wail about how unfair it all was. Despite the tears, the pain did not ease in her heart.

Was this her destiny? To find her people and love, only to lose them both?

Weary, she wiped her eyes and rose. She returned to John and untied his lead from the tree. The donkey’s huge brown eyes watched her somberly, as if sensing her sadness. She dragged herself back onto his bony back. She could not let it end like this — Connacht could not lose her Emerald Prince. And she could not lose Liam, not now.

Had it been possible, she would have traveled throughout the night. But she knew the animals needed a respite, and she did too. So she found a place to stop, not far from the stone tower and near a river. While Turrean slipped off to hunt for her own dinner, Alianor tended to the donkey’s needs and discovered John to be a sweet-natured creature. Perhaps she had misnamed him. It hadn’t seemed to tire him, carrying her upon his back so far, though she was probably much lighter than the monks he was used to carrying.

She imagined John staggering under a round monk’s backside, and laughed out loud. The sound echoed eerily in the surrounding darkness, a madwoman’s laughter. But it felt good and eased the grief and fear inside her. Alianor studied the donkey’s soft features, stroked him along his narrow muzzle. John seemed to laugh back, lifting his upper lip to show long, yellowed teeth.

“You poor boy. I’ve been an ungrateful burden, and I’m sorry for cursing you when you faithfully carried me without complaint.”

Yawning, Alianor soon settled beneath a tree, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms about them for warmth. The priest wanted to send an escort with her, but she refused to allow him to take the risk. The Church and King John were already at odds. The monks’ association with Camber was frowned upon, and she would not cause more grief for them.

Now, with darkness upon her, Alianor second-guessed her brave decision, despite her two animal companions. Night noises filtered to her through the thick trees; she wondered if she were alone on the road. Thieves and cutthroats roamed the countryside at night — no one was safe from their attacks. Had the Emerald Prince not captured her on a similar night? Pray she had not come this far, only to fall into the hands of miscreants.

“Nay,” she said to herself, drawing a deep, calming breath, imagining Camber spoke to her in his soothing tones. His corpse was not far away at the Black Abbey and Alianor could feel his spirit near. This comforted her. “’Tis unlikely, Nora,” she murmured, hearing Cam’s voice inside her head. “Put the thoughts from your mind.”

“Besides,” she added aloud, patting Turrean who lay beside her, “You’ll protect me, right?”

The sound of her own voice filled with determination eased Alianor’s fear. She had survived so much already, surely God would not permit thugs or thieves to set upon her now.

Yet there seemed no reason left anymore, even where Heaven was concerned. God took Camber, her dear, sweet brother. For what purpose? Perhaps God’s need for Cam was greater than her own. Who was she to doubt divine authority? Still, the grief nearly overwhelmed her at times, and made it difficult to keep faith. She wanted to wail her torment, her pain. Surrender to the heartbreak ripping at her insides.

Alianor’s thoughts turned to Liam. She needed him, needed his strength and courage, needed to lean upon him so she could move past this time of sadness. But, he was not there, and and she
was
alone. She must draw on her inner strength, face each day and whatever it threw in her path. She pulled her cloak tighter about her, curled up in the glade and closed her eyes. Morning would come soon enough.

A
LIANOR BOLTED AWAKE AS
a hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her screams. She struggled against her unseen assailant, but the large fist was attached to an equally big arm. A man’s dark shadow loomed over her; sheer terror flooded her.

“Be still,” he commanded, his voice hushed, yet firm.

She stilled.

“If you yell, I’ll be forced t’ gag you.”

Nodding her head so he knew she understood, she waited until he released his grip on her. She rubbed her mouth, for his steel-like fingers had bruised her lips.