Wild Roses (31 page)

Yet nothing could have startled her more completely
than Adele's bloodcurdling scream as the woman appeared at the open doorway,
and Maire knew then that she and Ronan were lost. As if caught in a slow-moving
nightmare, she glanced over her shoulder to see men running toward them
brandishing torches and weapons while the frantic neighing of a horse suddenly
drew her stricken gaze back to the life-and-death battle raging between Ronan
and Gerard.

She could not believe her eyes to see that Niall had
ridden wildly out of the darkness, and he steered his mount straight for Gerard
and nearly ran him down. Only the
knight's throwing
himself into the mud and rolling out of the way spared him from the thrashing
hooves, while Adele's frantic scream once more shattered the night.

"Maire, come on!"

She felt Ronan hauling her to her feet, but her eyes
flew past him to where Gerard struggled to
rise
, his
enraged roar striking her like a blow.

"Damn you, Black O'Byrne, you will die!"

And Maire knew he would, Duncan's men almost upon them,
so many Ronan and Niall together would not be able to fight them off. So many
even the rest of the O'Byrnes hiding in the dark would not be enough. With all
her strength, she wrenched herself free of Ronan's arms and shoved him
desperately toward Niall's horse.

"Go, Ronan! There's no time. Save yourself and
Niall—please, Ronan, go!"

She'd never seen his face so ravaged, but as if he knew
to do otherwise would bring certain death, he turned and vaulted onto the
horse's back behind Niall, who veered the wild-eyed animal around and kicked
him into a hard gallop.

"That's the man I saw riding from the meadow, I
swear it!" Adele cried out, even as Gerard roared and cursed that they
were getting away. Then he turned his eyes upon Maire, all of his rage directed
straight at her as he came toward her, limping, and struck her so violently
across the face that she was knocked to the ground.

"By the blood of God!"

Her ears ringing, as if from a great distance she'd
heard Duncan's voice, then Gerard's once more as the knight shouted out fierce
commands.

"Crossbowmen! Take position and cut them down—did
you hear me? Cut the bastards down!"

"No . . . no, they're my brothers . . . please,
no." Maire tried to raise herself from the mud but she could not.
Dizziness overwhelming her, the side of her face had begun to throb. As
distantly, she felt hands upon her and someone lifting her, but she could not
see for the darkness swallowing her like a shroud.

Nor did she fight it, but surrendered with a broken
sigh, an angry heartbeat pounding against her ear.

***

"Damn you, Gerard." His vehement whisper
heard by no one but himself, Duncan sat beside the bed and stared down at the
woman he felt he no longer knew.

She still hadn't stirred, not even when he'd stripped
her out of her wet, muddy clothing and tugged the sleeping gown over her head,
then covered her to her chin with warm blankets while Gerard and Adele waited
impatiently for him in the adjoining room.

They awaited him still. Duncan was not ready yet to
speak to Gerard, and especially not to Adele. They'd followed him to the
dwelling-house like hounds after a scent, and only his shouting orders to his
men to prepare themselves for any sign of battle forced them to keep silent.

He knew full well what they wished to say. His throat
tight, he lightly touched the ugly purple bruise marring Rose's cheek, and then
drew his hand away.

Not Rose.

Maire. Or so Adele had claimed the rebel Black O'Byrne
had called her. A great hollow ache twisting inside his gut, he didn't want to
believe it was true. God's
teeth, that
it was not! But
he had heard himself words as he'd knelt in the mud beside the woman he loved
that cut him still.

No, they're my
brothers . . . please, no.

Damn him for a fool, how could he not have guessed?
Dropping his head to his hands, Duncan thrust his fingers into his hair and
stared blindly at the dirt floor as events from the last week ran over and over
through his mind.

That she'd been so frightened of him—more than any
daughter of a chieftain loyal to King John would have been, no matter her
clansmen had been slain.

By the blood of God, she no doubt had remembered every
terrible moment of the attack but had lied to him all along . . . lied to him
about everything, her name, that she could summon no memory of her family, her
home. Yet given the damning secret she bore, what else could the woman have
done?

Duncan swore and thrust himself from the chair;
restlessly, he began to pace a bedchamber that had grown too small to contain
the emotion raging inside him. Not yet ready to face Gerard and Adele, he was
grateful that the door was bolted against them.

Maire O'Byrne . . . the sister of one of the most hated
rebels in Leinster. How many times had he said Black O'Byrne's name in front of
her? And all the while she had known, lying to him and carrying out her ruse so
skillfully that he'd even taken her to Dublin in hopes of finding her clan.

That thought made Duncan stop to stare at her lying so
pale and still in the bed, his heart thundering as hard as when he'd gathered
her up from the mud.

So she had tried to escape that day in the woods,
wanting him to think she had drowned in the bog, his suspicion aroused then
though he hadn't heeded it. And the night Adele had attempted to aid her in
leaving Longford Castle—even his half sister had been played for a fool!

Yet what again, of that night in Dublin when Rose—God
help him, Maire, had cried out she couldn't marry him? Now he could see that
much had been the truth . . . but everything else was lies, her agreement that
she would stand by him if her clansmen came to claim her, her sworn promise
tonight that she wouldn't leave the dwelling-house, and he'd said he loved her—
loved her
!

Sickened, Duncan could almost not bear to look at her, for
the realization that she must have been waiting for the chance to leave him all
along. It was enough to make him storm from the bedchamber; he wasn't surprised
when he drew the bolt and threw open the door that Adele and Gerard were
waiting just outside.

"Is she awake?"

Adele's query more a demand, Duncan ignored her and
brushed past both of them, but Gerard angrily caught him by the arm.

"Dammit, Duncan, we should tie the wench to a post
this very night and threaten to cut her throat if Black O'Byrne doesn't give
himself up. That will draw the bastard—"

"And if it doesn't?" Duncan bit off, angered
and sickened as much that Gerard could have struck Maire although he knew two
long years of frustrated hatred had incited him. Even now his knight's eyes
were fierce with loathing, his face twisted. Duncan decided then to post guards
as much to prevent Maire from trying to escape again as to protect her from
Gerard. "Ease yourself, man, as well you can. There'll be nothing done
this night except to watch for an attack."

He wrenched his arm free, but Gerard followed him,
still limping upon a twisted ankle, and close on his knight's heels came Adele.

"Nothing done, Duncan?" she said so shrilly
as to make him clench his teeth. "You've the sister of the man who
murdered Robert de Barry in that room, one of your men-at-arms slain by his
hand as well, and you say you'll do nothing?"

"Not this night." His voice grim, Duncan
didn't turn around until he came to the outer door, and then he gestured
sharply that they both leave the dwelling-house. "There will be time
enough to decide the best course—and I've the O'Melaghlins to release to their
clansmen first—"

"At a rebel's behest?" His expression
incredulous, Gerard stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "The woman tricked
you, Duncan, lied to you these past days, and still you would honor—"

"Yes, I will honor it because I want peace in West
Meath and not slaughter! That much at least hasn't ceased to make sense, no
matter her clan. Now go, both of you. We will talk of this tomorrow."

"So we
will
talk of it,"
came
Gerard's terse reply as he
brushed stiffly past Duncan, while Adele hurried after him out the door. Yet
she stopped to pull the hood of her cloak over her hair even though the rain
had dwindled to a light drizzle, her eyes sweeping Duncan with open disgust.

"See what your compassion and misguided sense of
chivalry has brought you? That Irish bitch reasoned you for a fool from the
very first—"

"Damn you, woman, go!"

His vehemence making Adele blanch, she spun on her heel
and hurried away, half-running to catch up with Gerard while Duncan slammed the
door shut with such fury that the wall shook. Yet he told himself fiercely as
he strode to the hearth that he should have left the dwelling-house as well.
God's teeth, why did he linger? One glance into the bedchamber made it clear
Maire still lay as if dead . . .

His gut clenching, Duncan went to her side, reasoning
to himself that it was only her value to him now as a prisoner that made him
want to check upon her, though he knew it was as broad a lie as any he'd been
told. She breathed slowly and steadily, some sound color returning to her face,
and he suspected then it wouldn't be long before she opened her eyes.

He sensed, too, what she might say, her first concern
no doubt for her brothers, which cut him deeply. Not that she had lied to him.
Not that she had surrendered her body to him only as a means to gain some time
until she could leave him—ah, God, so much deceit!

She must have known all along that the arrow which had
struck the rogue Norman had come from her brother's bow. It was no wonder she'd
held such concern for the O'Melaghlins, convincing him so easily to release
them . . . a way to free herself as well from Longford Castle so she might have
a greater chance of escape—

"Duncan . . ."

His heart lurched, and he cursed under his breath that
one ragged whisper could so affect him as Maire tossed her head upon the
pillow.

"Duncan, please . . . I love you . . ."

He stared at
her,
frozen,
feeling as if time itself had stopped around him while she fell still and
silent once more.

Yet somehow a moment later, he made himself move,
scarcely realizing he was outside the dwelling-house until cold drizzle stung
him in the face. Only then did he tell himself fiercely that those words had
been a lie like everything else.

By the blood of God, a lie! Pulling his mailed hood
over his head, he went to join his men.

Chapter 30

Maire shivered at the many eyes boring into her back
and clutched the reins as bravely as she could, no matter her fingers trembled.
And it wasn't so much the chill wind making them shake, the sky as dark and
threatening that morning as the day before though it hadn't yet rained.

Saints help her, it was the ill will directed at her;
she'd become the enemy now. An O'Byrne. She didn't have to look to, the left or
right to know that the four guards flanking her would be as grim-faced and
silent as any ordered to escort a prisoner. She didn't have to see Gerard de
Barry or Adele glance back at her to know that hatred filled their eyes.

Maire swallowed hard against the tears threatening to
fall, her clouded gaze fixed upon Duncan riding ahead at the front of his men.

Aye, that was the worst of all. As far as she could
tell, he hadn't looked at her once since she'd been brought forth from the
dwelling-house by the same guards who accompanied her now. It was just as she'd
feared if he ever learned the truth. He clearly hated her, too. Her anguish
reached so deep and was so complete, that she could not imagine ever feeling
otherwise again.

She'd awoken deep in the night to find herself alone in
the bed, horror once more filling her as she wondered if Ronan and Niall had escaped
with their lives. The last thing she remembered was Gerard shouting for
crossbowmen to cut them down, and she'd
risen
shakily,
her thoughts still so dazed she had imagined she might find Duncan in the next
room so she might ask him about her brothers.

Instead, she had found two guards warming themselves
around the central hearth and another two standing watch at the outer door, the
men turning to stare at her just as she stared at them.

Cold realization had struck her then. Duncan was
nowhere in sight. A harsh command by one of the guards that she shut the door
and return to bed had told her, too, that everything had changed. He had
allowed only that her brothers had escaped into the night, and she asked no
more, the angry curses rumbling among the men enough alone to make her retreat
back to the bed.

Maire turned her gaze to the distant countryside
shrouded by deep mist, wondering if Ronan and Niall still were near. She sensed
they were, but what could they do to help her now?

Everything had grown
worse,
so
much worse that sleep had been an impossibility during those long tortuous
hours before a guard had pounded upon the door and told her to dress. In
clothing still wet from last night's rain, she shivered again, almost relieved
to see the stark outline of a walled fortress looming ahead for the shelter it
would offer from the gusting wind.

But what shelter lay ahead for her? A dungeon? She
forced away fresh tears, willing herself not to cry. That would not help her
either. Nor would reliving futilely those moments when she and Ronan had seemed
so close to escaping the settlement, so close but for Gerard de Barry—

"You wretched Irish bitch. I should thank you for
sparing me having to find some way to be rid of you—a task you've accomplished
quite delightfully on your own."