The Emerald Isle (32 page)

Shifting in the silence, Cahira rested her back against her mother’s chair. She certainly
liked
Colton far better than any of the other Normans, and he must like her as well, for there had been no sign of revulsion in his eyes even after she announced her true name and gender. He had been surprised, certainly, but not offended.

And she fancied him—oh yes she did. His appearance pleased her tremendously, far better than any man in all of Connacht, and she could find nothing objectionable in his manners, his speech, or his character. He seemed gentle, compassionate, and courageous, and he had dared leave his master long enough to ride after her today…so perhaps he fancied her as well. Would he have come if he did not?

Her mother’s soft voice spun into Cahira’s tumbling thoughts. “Did you see your kinsman Rian today? Your father thought he might have chosen to go to Athlone.”

“Rian?” Cahira frowned, unable to recall. Her kinsman may have been at the tournament, but she had paid little attention to the Irishmen. She had spent the greater part of the afternoon searching the crowd for glimpses of a tall, dark-haired Norman with sparkling eyes.

“Rian is a good man, Cahira.”

Cahira nodded absently. “Of course he is.”

“You know your father has decided to promote him as his successor. He has begun to speak to the other chiefs about Rian’s strength and abilities.”

Cahira resisted the urge to shrug. This was no surprise; everyone in the
tuath
assumed that Rian would one day take her father’s place as king of Connacht. Her father was young, with many years left to rule, and Rian would be mature and capable when his turn came. None of the other chieftains seemed inclined to challenge his position.

“Rian will make a fine king,” she said softly, hugging her knees to her chest. She rested her head on her crossed arms and sighed deeply. Colton would make a fine king too, but a Norman would never be entitled to rule an Irish kingdom. The chieftains decided such things, and the man best fitted to rule over the ancestral line had to be accepted and inaugurated by the members of his own clan. No stranger could ever hope to govern an Irish province.

“Cahira,” her mother’s voice floated down, “you should not be afraid to follow your heart. It is easy to love a good and godly man.”

“In truth, I know you are right.” Cahira breathed the words in a heavy sigh as she stood to prepare for bed. “I never realized how easy until today.”

Snugly wrapped in a warm woolen blanket, Cahira twisted in the wooden chair and studied the star-thick darkness beyond her window.
The noises of the house faded as she focused her attention on the trail outside and sharpened her thoughts toward Athlone.

Somewhere beyond that field, behind those trees and over the trail, Colton lay wrapped in his cloak beneath the same sky. She held her breath, straining to hear some sound on the wind that might have blown past Athlone, but the dense silence was like the hush after a storm when the leaves hang limp and nature seems to catch her breath.

A whisper of wind lifted the hair over her ears, and she brought her hand to her cheek. Perhaps the same wind that touched her face had just caressed his! She smiled at the fanciful notion. Sorcha would roll her eyes at such drivel, but Sorcha had never felt like this…nor had she felt the power in Colton’s eyes when he smiled.

Cahira shivered and pulled the blanket more closely around her. The night was cool and clear, but the gusting wind hooted over the outbuildings and fluttered the garments the laundress had hung on a rope outside the kitchen.

What sights were meeting Colton’s eyes at this moment? What thoughts filled his head? Was he thinking of her?

“Cahira! Where are you?”

Sorcha’s frenzied whisper shattered the stillness of the dark chamber, and Cahira closed her eyes in resignation. She had hoped to pass an hour in rare solitude, but if she didn’t answer, Sorcha would light a torch and wake the others.

Cahira reached out from behind the covering tapestry and waved her hand toward the dancing light of Sorcha’s candle. “I’m here, by the window.”

The candle lifted, lighting Sorcha’s worried face. “Come away from the window, lass, or you’ll catch your death of the cold. And then what would your mother say?”

“She wouldn’t say anything.” Sighing, Cahira slipped from the chair and let the blanket fall like a mantle to the floor, then she shuffled toward the bed she shared with her maid. Compared to the bright,
clear coolness of her curtained window seat, the chamber felt uncomfortably warm and stuffy.

“Come to bed, lass, and that’s the end of it. What, can’t you sleep?”

“Not really.” Cahira obediently crawled onto the large bed in the corner of the room, then scooted to the far side. Sorcha blew out the candle, then settled in with a loud sigh, pulling the blankets to her chin and tucking her arms neatly out of sight. Across the room, in two other beds, six of the other female servants tossed, turned, and snored in various stages of exhaustion and sleep.

How could Sorcha lie down to sleep so calmly? Cahira rose on one elbow and propped herself up, staring at the dark spot where Sorcha’s face should be. For some time the maid had fancied Murchadh, so perhaps she
had
experienced feelings like these. Though it was hard to envision Sorcha sighing for Murchadh’s rough touch, stranger things had been known to happen.

Cahira reached through the darkness and poked the mound of blankets. “How can you sleep?”

Sorcha drew a ragged breath. “What? Is something amiss?”

Cahira leaned forward, her voice controlled and tight. “How can you just lie there after the day we’ve had? Are you dreaming of him then? Or are you making fanciful thoughts inside your head?”

Cahira heard the creak of straw as Sorcha twisted on the mattress. “Cahira, go to sleep. ’Tis not the time to be playing games.”

“I’m not playing games. I want to know if you’re thinking of
him.
”

“And who would
him
be?” Annoyance struggled with embarrassment in Sorcha’s voice as she snapped at Cahira in the gloom. “Just who would I be thinking of at this hour?”

Cahira lowered herself back to her pillow and eased into a smile. “You’re thinking of Murchadh. Just like I’m thinking of Colton.”

“Och, you little eejit, mind what you’re saying!” In a fit of embarrassment, Sorcha flung the blankets up over her head, retreating to that private place where the girls had whispered and giggled in confidence for years. Cahira immediately followed, then listened in the
warm darkness for the steady sound of Sorcha’s breathing. Though maturity had taught her that things whispered under the blanket were easily overheard, the dark cavern of the bedcovers seemed a place of magic and secrets.

“Did you note the knight then?” Cahira whispered. “Isn’t he terrible handsome?”

“He’s a Norman, and not one you should be thinkin’ about.”

“But you have to admit he’s gallant. He didn’t have to take old Brian’s place at the post, but he did.”

“You suggested the idea first. Until that moment, he was quite willing to shoot at Brian’s fool head.”

“But he saw reason, so he’s not thickheaded like so many of the others.” Cahira brought her knees to her chest, curling into a ball. “And he
is
devilish handsome. His hair is as black as Mag’s cat, and his eyes as dark as the night.”

“And you, lass, are as foolish as a lass who judges a horse by its harness. Can you be forgetting how your father feels about the Normans? He bears them no love.”

“He bears them no hate either. And if indifference can turn to love—”

“He does not trust them, nor will he trust one with black-cat hair and night-colored eyes. Though I’ll admit the knight is right fair and noble looking,” Sorcha sighed, her voice resigned, “your father has Rian in mind for you, and everyone knows it. Your kinsman is a good man, full of life and humor.”

Cahira laughed to cover her annoyance. “I like Rian well enough, but Mother says I should fancy the man I will marry. I can’t say that I’ll ever fancy Rian. I’m right fond of him, sure, and he’s a lovely gentleman, but he is not Colton.” She hesitated, unable to clothe her thoughts in words. How could she explain the feeling that leapt into her heart whenever Colton so much as glanced her way? Her spirits had ebbed as they rode from Athlone, yet when Colton came thundering into view, her heart had well nigh burst with happiness. And the feeling was mutual and reciprocated, she knew that well.
Even after all the unwomanly things she had done, he still fancied her and wanted to see her again.

And on the morrow he would come. She would meet him by the river and hear his proposition. By this time tomorrow night she would know if he meant her heart good or ill.

“Sorcha,” Cahira lowered her voice to the barest whisper, “tomorrow I must take you into my confidence and keep you there until this thing be resolved. Do you agree to take my part in this, or shall you run to betray my secret? Even Murchadh must not know.”

For a long moment there was no answer, then Cahira heard the rush of Sorcha’s resigned sigh. “I will keep your secret,” she answered, “but have you considered the risk? Your father will be furious.”

“He is not angry with me. He is proud.”

“Only because he thinks you made the Normans look like eejits. And what of Richard de Burgo? If he learns one of his knights is courting a daughter of Felim O’Connor, will he not try to take a hand in it?”

Cahira frowned at the hint of censure in Sorcha’s tone. “I do not know. But God will watch over us. If Colton’s intentions are noble, all will work for the best.”

“So you say,” Sorcha answered, her voice heavy with sarcasm. The straw mattress creaked as she thrust her head out of the covers and rolled over. “I will keep your secret, Cahira. But do not make me sorry for doing so.”

“Felim.” Alone in their torch-lit chamber at Rathcroghan, Una reached out and touched her husband’s arm. “Have you noticed that our daughter seems in a strange state of late?”

Felim’s left eyebrow rose a fraction as he lowered the book he’d been reading. “Hasn’t she been in a strange state since her twelfth year?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “A wee bit perhaps, but no more than any other woman.” Taking pains to smooth her voice and her facial features, Una dropped her needlework and shifted to face
him. “Husband, I believe our daughter has begun to warm to the idea of marriage. She is behaving as if love has befuddled her senses.”

“Love?” Felim’s smile vanished, wiped away by astonishment. “Our daughter? When has she had time to find love? She’s been so busy shearing her hair and outshooting the Normans—”

“She asked me about love tonight, after prayers.” Tilting her head to one side, Una stole a slanted look at her husband. “Trying to be discreet, I mentioned Rian, of course. Cahira led me to believe she has finally begun to fancy her kinsman as a husband.”

“’Tis about time.” Felim pulled back his shoulders and lifted his granite jaw, then sniffed with satisfaction. “Good. The boy shall have the kingdom and my daughter. All is as it should be.”

Una blinked back tears of nostalgia as she recalled memories of the carrot-topped youngster who had terrorized the household. “Murchadh will be lost without her.”

“I shall miss the girl.” Felim’s gaze shifted and thawed slightly when his eyes met his wife’s. “Things will be quiet without her.”

“She won’t be far away.” Una reached out again, squeezed his arm, and sighed in contentment when Felim’s hand slipped over her own. “Lasses grow into women, and women into mothers. And fathers give them away to other men—”

“Who aren’t nearly good enough for them.” Felim’s voice was gruff, but Una heard a strong note of affection in it. “Well, I’ve always liked Rian. The lad has many fine qualities. He will be a good husband for our Cahira.”

Una said nothing, but turned her hand and laced her fingers with her husband’s. They sat still for a long moment, taking pleasure in the simple warmth of togetherness. Finally Felim cleared his throat. “I should send for Lorcan at once. It may be difficult to find him.”

“It is only right that he be here,” Una agreed, squeezing his hand. “A brehon should certainly be present at a future king’s wedding.”