Wild Roses (20 page)

She didn't appear unhappy to see him, if but a little
nervous, which made Lady Enid's advice flood back to him. He felt suddenly
awkward standing there, halfway in the door, half out; it had been a long time
since he'd made any special effort to woo a woman.

"You . . . you may come in, if you'd like."

Her voice as sweet and soft as her lips had been last
night,
it was enough to spur him into motion. Duncan was
struck by renewed purpose at her tentative smile. He'd not seen such a thing
from her before.

Or to hear her laugh. What a wonder that would be. An
intense longing filling him for the day when she would be well enough to reveal
more about herself, he knew what was important right now was for her to learn
more of him. And she did seem of lighter spirits, just as Lady Enid had
said,
which only made him further take heart. Perhaps given
what he'd said to assure her last night, her fears had already begun to ease.

He sank to his haunches beside her chair, a swift
glance taking in the pale pink gown she wore, which so suited her delicate
coloring, and he noted as well the square of embroidery in her lap.

"Lady Enid kindly brought me something to
do."

Duncan met her eyes, a softness there that he hadn't
seen before either, though she seemed to grow uncomfortable at his scrutiny and
glanced down at her needlework.

He did, too, seeing that the stitches were as finely
wrought as those of his mother, and he remembered suddenly how Rose had
commented upon the beauty of the screen. He realized she must have a deep
fondness for such a womanly skill to wield a needle so well. Duncan felt as if
he'd been given a precious gift to have discovered something more about her.

"When we return to Meath, I'll see that you have
all you need to embroider to your heart's desire. And gowns. As many as you
wish, I'll have made for you. Lady Enid was gracious to give you this one"
—he touched her sleeve, grateful when Rose didn't pull away from him though she
had blushed as pink as her gown— "and the one you wore last night, but you
must have your own. As my wife, you deserve nothing less. Now come."

He stood and she looked up at him in confusion, the
same slight uncertainty tingeing her gaze, too. It made him all the more
determined that by the end of the day, he would not seem such a stranger to
her.

"Set aside your needlework, Rose, we've something
else to do."

He could barely contain his sudden impatience to be
gone from Dublin Castle as she did as she was bidden, then accepted the hand he
held out to her. As he drew her up in front of him, it was all he could do not
to pull her into his arms, too. Then he impulsively decided, why the devil not?
He swept her from her feet so suddenly that she gasped, and strode with her to
the door.

"I know, woman, you're not a child to be carried.
But it pleases me, and it's faster, fair enough?"

He was smiling, and if his teasing words alone didn't
sway her, that seemed to. She offered no resistance, staring at him as if in
wonder, while Duncan felt his own mood lighter than he could even remember.

***

Maire shifted in the saddle, trying not to think of how
much it pleased her to feel Duncan's arms so tightly around her just as he had
said it would please him that they ride together.

Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, everything seemed to be
pleasing him this morning!

That the spring day was balmy and the sun shone bright
as they'd rode from the huge
stable,
had moved him to
smile again and so handsomely that Maire had felt her heart begin once more to
thunder. Just seeing him standing at the door to her bedchamber had aroused
that overwhelming sensation, and it hadn't seemed to stop, Maire Made more
acutely aware with each passing moment of what she'd resigned
herself
to last night. She loved the man. God help her, she
loved him.

But that would have happened to any daughter of a
chieftain loyal to King John, she had told herself over and over as sleep had
evaded her long into the night. Just as Lady Enid had said, Duncan FitzWilliam
was honorable and good. What such young woman wouldn't be delighted to become
his bride? Her protestations had swayed him not a wee bit last evening, and
there were none left to her save the truth. A truth she risked revealing if she
didn't appear to be warming to Duncan's attentions—saints help her, she had no
pretending to do there!

"That's the place I wanted to show you. Do you see
it?"

Maire glanced at his face to find him not smiling now
but grown sober as he reined in his dark bay stallion. She followed his gaze to
a barren jutting of land lying south of where the River Liffey spilled into the
sea.

"We landed our ships there. A quarter of King
John's army while he and the rest marched north from Waterford . . . nearly two
years ago. I would have never known then that Ireland would become my
home."

Duncan's arms tightening around her, Maire was reminded
all too vividly by his words of how Ronan and her clansmen had hoped the
Normans would all butcher each other when King John had come to Eire to crush
the rebellion among his own vassals. Yet Duncan had survived, and prospered—

"I was a knight then," he continued close to
her ear, his warm breath eliciting shivers inside her. "But I was made a
baron for saving the king's life.
A recompense
. I came
close to dying that day—"

"Dying?" Maire's outburst ringing around
them, she flushed with chagrin as he nodded.

"The king's army was bound southward for
Dublin,
the earls Hugh and Walter de Lacy defeated and fled
to France. The bastards had wanted to make Ireland their own kingdom—and still
some of their men remain who long for nothing more than their return. It was
such as those who broke through the king's guard and attacked, but thankfully
there were enough to stop them. I heard later that King John swore if I hadn't
caught a sword blow intended for him, he would have lost his head."

Maire shuddered, and Duncan must have sensed it for he
drew her close.

"I tell you this not to distress you, Rose, but
that you might know my mind, my heart. I don't want to seem a stranger to you,
now that we will wed."

He spoke with such certainty, such finality, but how
could he know the impossible barrier that lay between them? As he kicked their
mount into a gallop toward a copse of trees, Maire said nothing, the pain she'd
felt so terribly last night coming once more to gnaw at her heart.

It was not to be, she repeated unhappily to herself.
It was not to be!
Nothing would alter
that, no understanding between them, no fervent wishing, no prayers,
no
tears. Yet would it be so selfish for her to forget, if
only for a little while, that she came from a rebel clan who would sooner see
Duncan dead than making his home in Eire?

"Let's rest here. Does this spot please you?"

She had been so lost in her thoughts, that he'd slowed
his horse to a stop before Maire realized they had reached the trees. Somehow
she mustered a small smile.

"Aye, it's fine, truly."

It was a beautiful place, hauntingly so; as Duncan
lifted Maire to the mossy ground she saw that ruins lay scattered under the
birch and oak. The remains of an ancient church? She crossed herself as Duncan
turned to lift a cloth bag from his saddle, the meal he had purchased for them
before they left Dublin's towering walls, which she could still see in the
distance.

The fortified city was as imposing and
bustling
a place as Triona had described it to be. Maire had
been glad to leave behind them the noise and so many Normans everywhere she
looked. Duncan had said only that they were going for a ride, and now she
wished they were still astride the stallion,
who
contentedly began to graze upon a tuft of lush grass, instead of stopped at
this all too quiet, all too eerily intimate spot that seemed to echo with
long-ago truths and secrets. Her mind running away with itself, she started
when Duncan took her hand.

"Come."

His strong fingers laced with hers, she was compelled
to move with him, Duncan taking care to lead her around foundation stones that
shown ghostly pale and weathered in the dappled shade. Yet she paused, in spite
of her unease to be taking their meal in what had once been a sacred place,
when she spied wild roses as red as blood trailing up and over a tall
cornerstone, the first such roses she'd seen since leaving Glenmalure. Her
heart aching, she had never felt
so
utterly torn as
Duncan drew close to her.

"You're fond of roses?"

"Aye, I've always loved—" Catching
herself
, Maire met his eyes to see they had darkened while
her face suddenly felt as if it were afire. She said nothing further, she
couldn't, as he studied her for what seemed an unbearably long moment,
then
he squeezed her hand, a hint of a smile crossing his
handsome face.

"We will sit here, then."

She could only nod, grateful at how weak her knees had
grown to sink onto the cloak he spread out for them in front of the
rose-covered cornerstone. But he didn't join her until he had plucked several
blooms, their perfume heady as he held them out to her.

"I've seen them as red only on the Hill of Tara,
amid the ruins there. When you told me your name, I thought of those roses . .
."

His gaze falling to her lips, Maire wondered wildly if
he meant to kiss her again. She hoped he might after how she'd just forgotten
herself—saints help her, anything to distract him! Her fingers trembled as she
took the roses, brushing his, and she sucked in her breath when still he stared
at her as if trying to fathom her thoughts.

Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, might she have given herself
away? She had never known relief so intense when he finally turned from her and
drew his heavy sword from his belt, then placed it on the ground within arm's
reach at one end of the cloak and sat down beside her.

Gazing at the weapon, Maire was reminded too painfully
of the chasm that separated them, years of unbridled hatred and fear and a
river of blood as red as the fragrant roses she lowered to her lap. As red as
the wine Duncan offered to her after he had laid out the simple meal of bread
and ewe's cheese and a dried berry tart. She took a sip from the leather flask,
knowing her hands were still shaking, but there was no help for it.

And she could see he noticed, his fingers once more
grazing hers when he took the flask and helped himself to a long draught. Yet
his eyes never left her face, and desperately Maire tried to think of some way
to shift the focus from her discomfort.

"That wound, Duncan . . . when you almost died. Is
it the scar upon your chest?"

He didn't readily answer, looking at her even more
intently,
then
he gave half a laugh.

"Forgive me. I was trying to think when you might
have seen me unclothed . . . then I remembered that first night."

He gave another laugh, his expression almost as
chagrined as a boy's, which touched Maire even as she thought of the other time
she'd seen him naked. Lowering her eyes to hide her burning face, she heard him
sigh, his voice grown sober.

"Yes, you've judged rightly. I lay abed for nearly
a month while Gerard managed things for me, no easy task for so large a barony.
And it wasn't made any easier for him when his brother was murdered."

The sudden harshness of his tone making Maire meet his
eyes, she was struck that Duncan's face had become so hard.

"His brother?"

"Right in front of his eyes. He'd gone to West
Meath where he'd left Robert and a dozen knights to guard a castle there—little
more than a ruin then, since Walter de Lacy's men had laid torch to it when
they'd fled before King John's army. Yet it wasn't so completely damaged that
Irish rebels weren't drawn there as well, the bastards forever looking for
plunder. They came upon Gerard and the others so suddenly . . ."

Duncan fell grimly silent as if the
topic
were
too bitter for him, and Maire didn't know if he would continue.

"O'Melaghlins?" she asked softly, wondering
if that might be why Duncan had chosen to deal with his prisoners so harshly.
He shook his head, his eyes grown ice-cold.

"O'Byrnes. Come north from Wicklow."

Chapter 19

Maire stared at Duncan in disbelief, his voice as
fierce as his gaze. "Gerard lives for the day Black O'Byrne crosses his
path again—and I'll join him to watch that murderer hang. Robert no more made a
move for his sword and he was struck down, the others made to lie upon the
floor while he bled to death before them. It was my Irish tenants who put a
name to the rebels, saying the O'Byrnes and their chieftain were feared
throughout Leinster. By the blood of God, they'll know fear if any dares set
foot again in Meath."

Duncan no longer looking at her but off into the
distance, Maire sensed as surely as her blood had run cold that he meant every
word. She had heard that tone before . . . from Ronan whenever he spoke of
Normans. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, could there be more hatred held by two men?
Her situation suddenly grown all the more precarious, she swept hair from her
face with trembling fingers as icy.

"God's teeth, enough talk of rebels."

Duncan had spoken more to himself than Maire, though
his gaze caught and held hers as he continued.

"That's only one scourge with which a baron must
contend. Others face as much on their
land,
and what's
left of Walter de Lacy's men bedevil Meath to this day."

"Were those the ones . . . ?" She faltered,
still stricken about what she'd heard of Ronan. Yet she told herself
desperately that she must act as if what Duncan had revealed held no
consequence for her—aye, none!—and somehow found her voice. "Clement told
me you hanged three men—"