The Emerald Isle (34 page)

Murchadh’s square jaw tensed visibly. “Have you considered that someone may be trying to provoke you? Whether this is Richard’s doing or not, perhaps ’twould be wise to wait until your temper has cooled.”

In a silent fury that spoke louder than words, Felim o’ the Connors turned toward the south, where Richard de Burgo and his knights were camped, then lifted his fist and shook it.

Cahira shrank back in dismay, remembering that Colton would soon be coming from that same direction.

She did not return to the rath, but walked steadily northward, past the gates of Rathcroghan and on toward the river. Her feet felt leaden, her heart completely lifeless. Her father was furious with good reason, for no Gael would kill cattle in such a meaningless way. The idea was inconceivable. Any man who would do such a thing cared nothing for property or the future. And the only men in these parts who fit that description were the Norman knights who fed from Lord Richard’s table.

But why would knights do such a thing, and why would they do it
now?
For over six weeks they had been guests in the land, partaking of Philip’s hospitality, denied nothing but an audience with her father. Yesterday they had seemed quite content with their sojourn, eagerly joining in the dances and merriment.

That memory brought another in its wake, with a chill that struck deep in the pit of her stomach. They had not
all
seemed eager to join in the dance, nor had they all been merry. Colton’s friend Oswald had not danced, nor had he once smiled at her. In fact, she could not recall seeing him at all after dinner. Perhaps he had remained in the hall, sulking over his bowl.

Could he have committed this bloodshed? And could his anger have sprung from her performance at the tournament?

Walking on, she stared at the sun-dappled ground where shifting silvery patterns danced as the wind blew through the trees. Colton’s affections might prove to be as changeable as these shadows. She had known him only two days; had spoken with him only thrice. In the hours they had been apart, Oswald might have poisoned his heart, turning his kind thoughts into disdain. He might have even been among the mysterious marauders who slaughtered her father’s cattle last night.

Colton might not keep his appointment with her. And if he did not, at least she would know why.

She reached the river before midday, then moved to the bank and looked north and south, half hoping Colton would have already arrived. But the riverbank stood silent and empty as the muddy, dimpled waters slid by on the way to Athlone and Clonmacnois and Clonfert.

Disappointed, Cahira moved to a wide, flat rock, then sat and drew her knees to her chest, her skirts spilling around her. Beyond caring about her appearance, she pasted a blank expression on her face and tried to corral her troubled thoughts. Last night she had slept in a soft cocoon of happiness and joy, but the morning’s complications had ripped her from that safe and contented place.

Was love itself so fragile and ephemeral? If so, was it a thing worth having? Worth fighting for?

“You may be the biggest fool Connacht has ever seen,” she told her reflection, idly running her fingers through the chin-length tresses framing her face. “You sit here, alone and unescorted, waiting upon a man your father counts as his enemy. If his intentions are dishonorable, you will discover it within the hour. But if they are—”

She had no time to finish the thought, for the sound of hoofbeats reached her ear. She raised her head, too tense to call out, but something in her heavy heart lightened when two mounted knights appeared on the trail. The foremost knight spurred his mount when he saw her, then swung himself from the saddle in one easy movement.

“Cahira.” Colton smiled when he said her name, and the sight of that smile dispelled her fears. “You came.”

“Of course I came.” She wrapped her arms around her bent knees as he approached. “Were you thinking I would not?” She studied his face, searching for some flicker of disloyalty or shame, but she saw nothing in his eyes but honor and truth.

“You came alone?” The question came from his companion, Oswald, who remained on his mount. Cahira barely glanced at him, then nodded. “My father was occupied with troubling matters, so I left on my own.”

Colton was staring at her as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Will you walk with me?” he asked, his eyes brimming with a curious deep longing.

Cahira didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He took her hand, helped her from the rock, and for a few moments they walked along the riverbank without speaking. Cahira was beginning to wonder if he regretted asking her to meet him, but then he stopped and abruptly turned to face her.

“If we were in my country,” he said, watching her intently, “I would speak to my lord, who would send a representative to your father to arrange a marriage. If your father was agreeable, we might be wed without spending another hour in each other’s company. We
would meet again outside the doors of the church and then spend the rest of our lives together.”

Though a delightful shiver ran through her, Cahira strove to keep her voice light. “In my country,” she countered, “I would speak to my father, who would send a representative to your master. He would ask about many things before a marriage could ever be arranged.”

“What sort of things would he want to know?”

Cahira shrugged and allowed her eyes to drift over the silent river, which moved without a ripple in the windless calm. “He’d want to know if you have bad habits. Are you profane? Do you honor God and seek to serve him? Are you kind to orphans and old men?”

“No, yes, and I think so.” He turned to survey the river too and thrust his hands behind his back. “Anything else, Lady?”

“Of course.” Cahira pressed her hands together, delighted for an opportunity to learn more about him. “Have you a family?”

“No. I am an orphan and belong only to Lord Richard.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“None.”

“Are you overfond of ale? Are you
underfond
of bathing?”

A deep chuckle rose from his throat, but he quickly cloaked it in a mantle of dignity. “No and no. I am only one step shy of sainthood in this life and assured of it in the next. I am kind to animals, I give alms in the church basket, and I confess my sins every night.”

“You’re not a very agile dancer.” She tossed the accusation at him from beneath half-closed lids. “I saw you stomping about with the other knights. Though you may liberally dispense grace in your words, that elegance does not extend to your feet.”

“But you, Lady, have refinement enough to cover my lack.”

Cahira felt one corner of her mouth lift in a wry smile. Murchadh would certainly not agree with that assessment, neither would her mother. They had too often seen her mud-spattered, bedraggled, and soaked through with rain and river water.

“I think,” her voice softened, “I would be pleased with those answers when I heard them.”

“You are not fair.” Colton lifted a brow in accusation. “I might send my representative out with a list of questions too.”

Turning to face him, Cahira crossed her arms. “What sort of questions?”

“Do you gossip?” He bent toward her, his eyes bright with merriment. “Do you cook? And most important, Lady, do you snore?”

Cahira’s eyes widened. “No, no, and no!”

His grin flashed briefly, dazzling against his tanned skin. “How do you know you don’t snore?”

“I know! My maid would have told me!”

“And you don’t cook?”

Cahira’s indignation cooled as if he had thrown water upon it. The snoring question was a joke; the cooking was another matter. Every woman was supposed to know how to cook and clean and keep a house, but she had never taken the time to learn.

She debated telling a lie, then decided to give him the truth. “I don’t cook or clean or keep house very well,” she answered in a rush of words. “But I can shoot an arrow and wield a sword and throw a dagger with the best of my father’s men. I can trim a hoof and milk a cow and—when no one is looking—vault a fence. And I can dance!”

“My lady,” he said, his extraordinary eyes blazing, “your accomplishments far outweigh what I have any right to expect.”

The eager affection coming from him confused and warmed her at the same time. She looked away, trying to think of a snappy riposte, but for once in her life words failed her.

“I have never met a woman like you,” he said simply, his gaze as soft as a caress. “And I have decided to observe the honorable rites in my land and yours in order to win your hand. If you will have me, Cahira o’ the Connors, I will pledge my heart to your service this very day.”

Cahira took a quick breath of utter astonishment. She had expected polite words, perhaps a bit more idle flattery and foolish flirtation, but never had she expected him to come so directly to the point. “Are you saying,” she swallowed, “that you would like to marry me?”

“I would wed you this very day if my lord and your father would approve.” In a burst of earnestness, he took her hand and pressed her palm to his chest. She caught her breath. Even beneath the fabric of his surcoat and mail, she could feel his heart pounding. Indeed, his entire body felt as taut as a bowstring.

What to do? Her emotions were bobbing and spinning like flotsam caught in the rushing river, and her mind, usually so logical and certain, wavered between extremes. She fancied him—aye, she might even love him, for in the space of hours he had unlocked her heart and soul. But he was a Norman, and such brutal men had not been seen in Éireann since the Norsemen invaded so long ago. Not even the Vikings would kill good cattle for sport.

“We are in my country,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she looked up at him, “and my father would never approve of my marriage to a Norman. This morning he found evidence of cruel mischief in our pasture. More than a dozen of our cattle are dead, and he believes Norman swords slaughtered the beasts.”

Colton’s face went blank with shock. “Has he proof of this?”

“He needs none. No Irishman, particularly one of Connacht, would harm his cattle, for we all profit and suffer according to the fate of the king. My father lends cattle to others of his family; they repay him over time. ’Twould make no sense for any of our people to kill the cattle.”

Colton’s empty look slowly filled into a bewildered expression of hurt. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with it.”

The question hung in the air between them, shimmering like the reflection from the river. Cahira searched her heart, then searched Colton’s face and found no trace of deception there. “From what I am knowing of you, sir,” she answered, hoping that the yearning in his face was not quite so apparent in her own, “you could not do such a thing. But my father does not know you, and at the moment he is not disposed to meet any Normans, be they friend or foe.”

His eyes shone moist, and his voice went suddenly husky. “Does this mean you no longer wish to see me?”

Cahira bit her lip. She had come to one of those places, like a fork in the trail, where she must choose to follow her heart or her mind. Following her mind meant the approval of her parents, a loveless marriage with Rian, the steady suffocation of her heart under the heavy mantle of royal leadership. She had been the unwilling daughter of a king; soon she would be the unwilling wife of another one. If she did what she was expected to do.

But if she followed her heart, Colton would walk with her. Though he was a Norman, and overconfident in his own way, such things could be forgiven in so exceptional a man. The road ahead would be uncertain, possibly hard, but what was life, if not a series of difficult choices? “Be happy while you’re living, for you’re a long time dead,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Something Murchadh once told me.” She took a step toward him, involuntarily impelled by her own eagerness. “I could never wish to be rid of you. My father the king will do as kings must, but I am a free woman. Last night my mother told me to follow my heart. That is what I intend to do.”

His hands closed around hers in a warm and comforting grip. “Tell me what you require, Lady, and I shall do it. I cannot disavow my oath of service to my master, but my heart is unfettered and free. I would gladly surrender it to you.”

Cahira smiled as a wave of peace and satisfaction washed over her. “Meet me here every day for a week, so I may know your love is constant. If you keep this part of our bargain, and if in seven days we still feel the blessing of God upon this union, then on the seventh day I’ll go with you to find a priest, where we shall vow our lives to one another forever.” She lifted her gaze and found her mirror in his eyes. “Then you shall possess my hand and heart, Sir Colton, for as long as we both shall live.”

The lines of heartsickness and worry immediately lifted from his face. He clasped her hand tighter, then pulled her to him, his kiss sending the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl.

“Fear nothing,” he whispered as he held her, trembling, in his arms. “I’ll see to everything. If I have to find the guilty butchers and drag them before your father with an apology and bags of gold, I’ll do it. But our people will remain at peace, and we will be married seven days hence.”