Wild Roses (32 page)

Rid of her? Maire stared into Adele's cold blue eyes,
her heart pounding and her hands growing clammy as much that the ruthless woman
had fallen back to ride alongside her as at what she'd just said. Jesu, Mary,
and Joseph, did Adele know of Duncan's plans for her? Mayhap that he intended
to drag her to the dungeon as soon as they arrived at the castle and then leave
her there to rot?

"I think the reward Duncan will win when he
captures and hangs your rebel brothers will more than make a suitable wedding
gift for the Norman bride I intend to help him find, don't you?"

Adele spurred her lively dappled gray forward before
Maire could summon a reply, even though she truly had none. To hear what Adele
had said of her brothers was horrible enough. But to think of Duncan taking
another for his wife made Maire's throat constrict so painfully she doubted she
could have spoken. Had he already said that he planned to do so to Adele? Could
love voiced so fiercely last night have disappeared altogether? Ah, God, she
was such a fool!

She could not count the lies she had told him, and even
without that there was the deep-seated malice he bore toward Ronan. That she'd
come so close the other day to revealing the truth about her clan made her
believe now she must be mad to have hoped the barriers between them could be
conquered. She had no hope left!

"Bring the prisoner forward!"

Maire paled, her gaze flying to the three O'Melaghlins
before she realized with a start when one of the guards grabbed the reins from
her hand that the outcry had been meant for her.

Her heart leaping to her throat, she saw that Duncan
conferred ahead with a cluster of his knights near the gatehouse, where a
drawbridge was being lowered. Her approach scarcely drew a glance from him.
Only when the same guard yanked her mount to a stop not far from Duncan's did
he finally meet her eyes, his expression so hard, so cold that she knew then he
must truly hate her. Though he spoke to the man still holding the reins, his
intense gaze never left her face.

"Escort her into the keep—my private quarters. See
that she remains well guarded."

"Yes, my lord."

"Tell Edward de Valognes that he remains in
command until I return—"

"God's breath, Baron, you've barely arrived and
now you leave us?"

Maire's gaze flew to the swarthy knight who'd called
down to them from the top of the gatehouse, and she saw then that a host of
men-at-arms lined the battlements. Astonished anew at the numbers Duncan
commanded, she started when his grim voice broke the silence.

"I've a matter of peace to discuss with the
O'Melaghlin—but enough, man, I trust Lady de Londres will tell you all."

Adele's sharp intake of breath made Maire twist round
in the saddle, the woman glancing in disbelief from Gerard to Duncan.

"But . . . but I thought I was to accompany
you—"

"Only this far. Ennell Castle isn't as grand as
Longford, but you'll find your needs ably met."

With that Duncan sharply veered his horse around while
Adele could but sputter, Maire struck by a fresh stab that he hadn't spared her
a further glance. Yet the O'Melaghlins—Finian, Innis, and Tynan . . . clearly
Duncan still meant to release them.

Warmed no matter how indifferently he'd treated her,
she felt a glimmer of hope flaring in her heart. All might not be lost. And
he'd said to take her to his private quarters, nothing about a dungeon—

"Damn you, wench, you may think you've won some
reprieve, but you haven't—do you hear me?"

Stricken, Maire met Gerard's burning eyes as he
purposely walked his mount past hers, his face darkened with fury.

"I'll have Black O'Byrne dead at the end of my
sword before we leave this place, I swear it, and you're going to bring him to
me!"

Gerard kicked his horse into a gallop and joined the
rest of Duncan's men thundering away from the castle, while Maire could but
stare after him, blood roaring in her ears. She was almost grateful when the
guard yanked her mount once more into motion, anything to spare her from
Adele's hateful gaze as well.

Any hope she'd felt so fleetingly all but dead, she
knew nothing now but desperation as she thought of Ronan out there watching
them, of Duncan mayhap riding into his path—Jesu help her, of Gerard's threat!
—and her gaze fell to the moat as they passed over the drawbridge.

It was empty, no more than a muddy ditch.

***

"Aye, lord, that's the same castle—repairs made,
the walls fortified, but the same."

Flann O'Faelin flat on his belly beside him, Niall on
his left, Ronan's jaw clenched as Maire disappeared into the gatehouse, one
Norman leading her mount by the reins while three others followed. Then went
the blond woman who'd shrieked like a wild banshee last night and brought the
baron's men down upon him, while the bastard he'd fought rode after Duncan FitzWilliam—by
God, if only he had more clansmen with him, he'd attack now!

"Aye, almost two years ago, lord, we came by here,
and you struck a man down if I recall."

"Because he raised his weapon like a damned fool
and tried to spear you in the back, Flann O'Faelin. What the devil else was I
to do?"

Ronan got no answer but a grunt, while Niall remained
grimly silent. It was better than listening further to his younger brother
blame himself about Maire. Aye, he knew all about such guilt. But a brazen,
flame-haired hoyden had saved him from his own. An ache rose inside him at the
days spent without seeing Triona and little Deirdre. How many more would pass
now that his attempt to rescue Maire had failed?

"I'm wondering if the man you slew has anything to
do with the baron,"
came
Flann's low voice.
"You said the spawn you fought recognized you, knew your name. Did he seem
familiar to you?"

Ronan shook his head; he remembered more the corpses
rotting in the dungeon than any of the Normans he'd made to lie facedown upon
the floor while his clansmen went through the castle looking for anything of
value. Yet God help him, what did any of that matter? Maire was in grave danger
. . . though his gut told him that she hadn't been before.

There had been no guards posted outside the
dwelling-house, and none inside, only Maire dressed and heading to the door to
his surprise as if to flee. He wished they'd had time to speak, but wishing was
a futile business to the circumstances they faced now. The bastards knew Maire
was an O'Byrne, though he suspected that they hadn't before. Just as he'd
hoped, she must have managed some ruse—

"Good God, Ronan, what are we to do? If only a
section of the wall was down like before—"

"Aye, we clambered over the rubble like
goats," Flann interrupted Niall, who cursed in frustration. "The wall
had been battered down thanks to King John and his
army come
to destroy their own kind."

"But we've no battering ram, Flann, so why even
speak of it?" Niall slammed a clenched fist into the ground. "And this
time the castle is overrun with Normans, not like the few we came upon two
years past."

"So we watch and wait, just as before." Ronan
glanced from Flann to Niall. "If Maire was attempting to flee last night,
she might very well try again."

"Last night she had a chance, Ronan—no high walls
to frustrate her, and you said she had no guards to prevent it. The devil take
them,
it's
different now!"

Ronan could but stare at Niall in silent agreement. His
gut tightened at the realization that the Normans might decide to threaten
Maire's life as a means to capture him.

It was becoming clearer all the time that she must have
fooled the spawn since she'd been abducted; the memory plagued him still of
Maire outside Longford Castle throwing her arms around Duncan FitzWilliam's
neck. And then last night . . . when he'd watched the baron kiss her before
carrying her into the dwelling-house—by God, why was he tormenting himself? No
matter to what drastic lengths Maire must have gone, all was changed, just as
Niall had said.

"Aye, we watch and wait," Ronan repeated more
to himself, adding under his breath like a fervent prayer, "and get as
close to the castle as we can. If Maire tries again to escape, we must be ready
. . ."

He said no more, already on his feet. Niall and Flann
glanced at each other and then shoved themselves from the ground to follow
after him.

Chapter 31

"God's breath, Duncan, the O'Melaghlins are freed,
your blessed peace achieved! It's time we speak of Black O'Byrne and what's to
be done with the wench—I'll wait no longer!"

Scowling, Duncan spun around at the entrance to the
keep to face Gerard, having borne all that he would stomach from his knight.
"My blessed peace? Dammit, man, the accord struck today affects all within
the barony, not only me! If you weren't so consumed by the other, you might see
it as well."

"So consumed?" Gerard's voice had grown
quiet, almost emotionless, his eyes riveted to Duncan's face. "I thought we
shared a like intent, you and I, to avenge Robert's murder. But perhaps now
that has changed—"

"Nothing's changed. I wish Black O'Byrne dead as
much as you." Duncan scowled even more deeply as thunder rumbled across
the darkening sky, dusk falling like a heavy veil. "Enough. You see little
else can be done with this day, and another storm comes."

"Let it howl and bluster! Did that keep the
bastard from slaying one of your own men last night?"

Duncan didn't answer, sensing what Gerard planned to
say next even as his knight's voice grew harsher.

"It's not so late we cannot act, Duncan. Give the
wench over to me, and we'll see how quickly Black O'Byrne runs to save
her—"

"By the blood of God, man, enough! The woman
remains in my quarters until I've decided the best course—didn't I say as much
last night?"

Duncan turned and strode into the keep before Gerard
could answer. Knowing that his knight's furious eyes burned into his back
stoked his own mounting anger. And he felt it no more acutely than his fury at
himself.

Why was he delaying a decision? Tonight, tomorrow
morning. A few hours would not alter the fact that the woman who awaited his
judgment even now had deceived him as surely as her brothers and clansmen
watched Ennell Castle. He had felt their eyes fixed upon him, too, as he
approached the fortress, though he'd seen no sign of them.

His tension growing, Duncan ignored servants and his
men alike as he navigated the rabbits' warren of lamplit stairways that ran
between floors. Longford Castle's design was much more to his liking than this
towering square keep. The place was like a maze, and he almost wished the fire
set within the great hall on the uppermost floor by Walter de Lacy's men had
gutted the castle so he might have had good reason to tear it down and start
anew.

According to the villagers a violent thunderstorm
within the bailey had doused the blaze, but nothing had saved the outbuildings,
constructed entirely of wood. Yet those, too, had been rebuilt, the great hall,
the roof of the keep, and the curtain wall repaired where King John's forces
had broken through . . .

Duncan swore under his breath; Black O'Byrne and his
men a few weeks later had gained entrance at that same point and within
moments, Robert de Barry lay dead.
That
was what he should be thinking of. His anger grew so fierce that as he took the
narrow steps spiraling up the tower to his private quarters three at a time,
his heart began to pound.

Two guards flanked the entrance when he reached the
landing, but his thunderous glance sent them into retreat down the way he'd
come while Duncan considered kicking down the door. Gone was the eagerness he'd
always known before, in its place as much raw pain and fury as the countless
lies he had believed ran through his mind. Somehow he made himself thrust open
the door, still with so much force that it slammed against the wall.

He wasn't surprised at the gasp that greeted him, Maire
turning from the single window so suddenly that she nearly lost her balance and
had to catch herself against a table. Her eyes were as wide and uncertain in
the blazing firelight as he'd ever seen them. She stared at him even as he
stared at her, neither speaking for what to Duncan seemed like endless moments.

He saw her swallow hard and it cut him that she must truly
fear him now; he wondered if she thought he might strike her as Gerard had
done. That she might believe him capable of such an act cut him even deeper,
but what else was the woman to think at how he'd stormed into the room?

Stunned that his anger could be so easily tempered,
Duncan steeled himself against her ashen pallor, steeled himself against
impassioned memories that even now leapt into his mind, and shut the door hard
behind him. She started, but lifted her chin not in defiance but as if bolstering
her courage, her beautiful gray eyes not straying from his.

"Duncan, I—"

"Spare me any more
lies
,
woman, there's little for us to say to each other. You are Maire O'Byrne,
sister to the Wicklow rebel Black O'Byrne?"

She didn't readily answer, looking so stricken that
once again, Duncan had to steel himself against the effect she had upon him.
Just hearing his name upon her lips had been difficult enough—

"Aye, Ronan Black O'Byrne is my brother."

Her voice soft as a whisper, Duncan saw that she
trembled, and he had to fight with all his will the sudden hunger to go to her
and pull her into his arms. He saw, too, tears glistening in her eyes, one
spilling down her bruised cheek stabbing him as deeply as any knife.

"Will you— Will you use me to hurt him?"

Duncan felt his throat grow tight, the anguish in her
gaze, her words like a breathing, palpable thing between them. All that Gerard
had suggested to draw out Black O'Byrne running through his mind, he knew in
that moment he could do none of it, would do none of it—God help him, how could
he allow any further harm to come to her after all she'd suffered? He loved
her! Loved her still no matter the lies, the deceit. His overwhelming thought
was how to protect her.