At the Queen's Summons (33 page)

“Thank you,” he whispered, knowing she would understand his gratitude. “Thank you for that.”

It was her last gift to him. A pure, shining love that would carry him across whatever time and space was doomed to separate them.

Fortitude Browne barked an order. Gently but firmly, a soldier drew Pippa out of the way. For a moment, wild panic flared in her eyes, but Aidan steadied her with his gaze.

“Let go, my darling, my beloved,” he whispered. He drank in a last image of her—wide eyes, soft lips, wind-tossed curls. Hand outstretched toward him. He wanted to take her hand, wished it could pull him into a magic, invisible world, but he made himself say again. “Let go.”

She stepped back out of the way. The soldiers reprised their formation around him. To the steady thump of a drum, the O Donoghue Mór was led off to die.

H
ow does a man tell of a life that is ended before the best part has begun?

I, Revelin of Innisfallen, find it impossible to pluck the words from my grieving, sad brain this day.

Likewise I find it impossible to pray, a grave problem for a man who has devoted his life to study and prayer. But what good is faith when injustice triumphs in this evil world? What good is prayer when the Vast Almighty is eternally deaf to my pleas on behalf of the best man I've ever known?

I had hoped the letter from Dublin and my efforts—and those of the contessa—to act upon it would bear fruit, but alas, it is too late.

It is time for me to go now, to be with the O Donoghue Mór in his most desperate hour.

And may the Almighty—deaf or not—have mercy upon the soul of my lord Aidan.

—Revelin of Innisfallen

“I
t's called a
what?”
Donal Og demanded, looking at the object Iago had drawn on the ship's deck with a bit of charcoal.

“A pineapple,” Iago said.
“Anana.”
He looked with exaggerated patience at the contessa. “Señora, you should tell your husband to pay closer attention. There are many new things for him to see in the islands of the Caribbean. He will be lost without my guidance.”

The contessa sent an adoring smile to Donal Og. “My husband had a long night. Give him time. We are only one day out of Ireland. We have weeks of sailing ahead of us.”

Iago shook his head in mock desolation. “Woe betide us all,” he said. “This ship will sink 'neath the weight of all your sappy sentiment.”

“This ship is unsinkable,” the contessa said with a superior sniff, watching a pair of dolphins leap near the high bow. “It is a barque of the Muscovy Company Line. Lord Oliver assured me it is completely seaworthy and provisioned for up to six months.”

“It will take us less than six weeks to reach San Juan
if the winds stay as fair as they are today. Ah, San Juan! Amigos, a new life awaits us!” Iago threw out his arms to encompass the gallowglass and crew and all those from the castle who had chosen to sail with them into exile.

The heavy tread of boots on wooden planks rang down the decks. Everyone looked toward the lofty sterncastle quarters.

There, gripping the gilded rail, his black hair flying on the trade winds, stood the O Donoghue Mór.

Huzzahs went aloft like signal flags. Aidan smiled, but it was an empty smile, one he did not feel in his heart. His heart was grieving for the woman he had left behind.

With mystifying abruptness, his captors had marched him not to the scaffold on the hill, but to a well-provisioned ship docked in Dingle Bay.

The deliverance had been arranged, he had learned, by Oliver de Lacey. Aidan would never know what pressure Wimberleigh had brought to bear, but the lord protector in Dublin had learned the name of the man who had been diverting Crown revenues for his own use. Only moments before Aidan's sentence was to be carried out, soldiers had raced in from Dublin with the lord deputy's decree. Fortitude Browne was sent in disgrace back to England.

It proved to be a bittersweet triumph. Though Browne was gone, so was Aidan's domain. He could never reclaim Ross Castle, for another Irish-hating constable would take Browne's place. Aidan was alive, yet without Pippa, a part of him was cold and dead. He knew he would never see her again. Doubtless her father did not consider an exiled Irish chieftain to be a suitable husband. Aidan did not blame him. A daughter like Philippa was to be cherished and kept close, not sent adventuring to an unknown land.

Did she realize he had been spared, or had her family deemed it best to let her think he had died? He pictured her, couched in the splendor provided by her father's riches, wistful with memories of him. He wondered how long he would last in her heart. A year? Two? She was young yet; perhaps she would learn to love another. But surely—please God—not with the wild, all-consuming love she had shared with Aidan.

The very thought tore into his heart, and he winced with the pain of it. Yet he did not wish her ill. One day, when the pain dulled to a persistent ache, he would allow himself to picture her with another man, a conventional Englishman who would offer her a safe, quiet affection for years to come. A man she could trust never to leave her.

But could she forget the incandescent passion that had lit their world for one magical summer season?

“Sail ho!” A boy shouted the alert from the topmast. “Fine on the port bow!”

All hands rushed to the rails. Sailors scrambled up the ratlines. Two colored flags flapped from the sterncastle of the approaching ship.

“They're signaling us to come about,” the ship's master said. “They want to reconnoiter.”

Aidan's instincts took fire with apprehension, but he deferred to the captain.

“It's a law of the sea,” the wind-battered Englishman declared, and orders were whistled down the deck. “We must parlay with them. God help us all.”

Aidan stayed where he was, gripping the rail on the high deck while the two ships drew closer. He braced himself for the worst. Somehow, Browne had found a way to haul him back to the gibbet.

Then he blinked in the bright glare of the autumn sun,
thinking his eyes deceived him. A woman stood on the midships deck of the other vessel, waving her arms while the sunlight shone down on wild curls the color of beaten gold.

“Pippa!” His shout rolled like thunder across the water. It seemed an eternity before the two vessels drew close enough.

He paced and swore, certain the moment would never arrive. Even when the ships came within boarding distance, time seemed to crawl.

“Patience, my lord,” said Iago. “It takes time to steady the ships for a boarding plank.”

“By God, I don't have time.” He seized a rope that hung from a yardarm. Despite protests from all quarters of the ship, he tied on a grappling hook and sent it swinging toward the other ship. The hook caught on the third try, and without the slightest hesitation he looped a pulley over the rope and swung across.

He smacked against the midships rail, bounced off and hit the archers' screen. Heedless of his bruises, he scrambled over and landed on his feet in front of Pippa.

Her eyes sparkled like the brightest stars. “I can't believe you're here,” she said.

He gave a whoop of pure joy and captured her in his arms. They kissed long and so lustily that it took a firm, fatherly clearing of the throat to interrupt them.

Aidan pulled back to face a grinning older man who stood with his arm around a petite woman. Lark de Lacey wore Pippa's brooch pinned at her shoulder.

“You are Lord and Lady Wimberleigh,” he said. “My thanks. I owe you my life.”

“For our daughter, that was not enough. She would give us no peace until we brought her to join you on this wild adventure.”

“That is true,” she said, tucking herself against his chest. “I can't imagine why any of you thought I would be content to sit and embroider handkerchiefs while you sailed the world.” She pressed a hand to Aidan's broad chest. “I was born to go adventuring with him.” She glanced at the companion ship, where all the men and the contessa had gathered at the rail.

Taking a deep breath, she broke away from Aidan and kissed her mother and father. All three of them wept and pretended not to notice. “Give Richard my love, and embrace my other brothers and the sister I've yet to meet,” said Philippa.

“With the Muscovy fleet at our disposal,” Oliver said, “I'll bring them for many visits.” Shamelessly, he wiped his face with his sleeve.

Lark touched the ugly gold brooch. “Are you sure you don't want this as a keepsake?”

Pippa smiled up at Aidan. “I don't need it, Mama. Not now. I have all that I need.”

“I could have it reset with jewels and bring it to the Indies.”

“Mama, I would welcome a visit from you,” Pippa said. “But as for the brooch, keep it for your grandchildren.”

Aidan's chest ached with hope. “We'll see to it that you have plenty of those.”

“Then take our love, and nothing more,” Oliver said.

“That is all we need,” said Pippa.

Aidan caught the pulley and swept her up in his embrace. Her arms went around his neck, clinging as he stepped to the rail. With a laugh of pure exultation, he leaped. They were suspended for a moment over seething open water. Then, on a great gust of wind, they swung across to the other ship and landed with a lurch on deck.

“You're carrying me,” she said breathlessly.

“Aye.”

“I can't believe you're carrying me.”

“Again,” he reminded her.

“Yes, again,” she said, and laughed.

S
ure and it's a high blessing entirely to clap my poor old eyes on such a thing as Lord Richard has brought me this day, two years after he came on as master of Ross Castle.

It's a sheaf of letters and sketches from an island in a sea called Caribbee. It was delivered by Lord and Lady Wimberleigh, who have just returned from a visit to the islands to see their first grandbabe.

Imagine a place so littered with green islands that men of purpose can simply land on one and claim it as their own! That is exactly what Aidan O Donoghue and his merry adventurers did. Iago was their guide; they provisioned at San Juan—Iago had a bride waiting for him there, heaven be praised!—and set off on their own. They founded a great plantation where they grow enormous, tall cane that yields sugar, of all things. I'd never have believed it, except Wimberleigh's ship was fair crammed with sugar syrup when it arrived.

In addition to the blessing of a fat, black-haired baby boy, my Lady Philippa is increasing again. She and the
contessa are both due to be delivered in the same month, and may the Great Almighty protect them and the bairns.

The O Donoghue Mór says I'm not to call him the O Donoghue Mór any longer and that I'm to stop chronicling his life. He tells me that all this constant, unremitting bliss makes for very boring reading these days.

And so I close this thick tome, built with laughter and tears, on a life well lived, on a triumph of the heart. I shall write no more of Aidan O Donoghue because he asked it.

But I shall think of him often, aye, and that is a thrice-made promise. I shall ever think of him as the O Donoghue Mór, last of the great chieftains, the twilight lord.

—Revelin of Innisfallen

Dear Reader,

Something old is new again. I'm very proud to bring you a brand-new edition of the Tudor Rose trilogy, first published about fifteen years ago.

These books were researched and written when the information superhighway was a mere goat track. But the themes and story lines are timeless, exemplifying the things that have always been important to me, both as a reader and a writer: fiercely honest emotion, ordinary people experiencing extraordinary challenges, passion and adventure, and of course, a satisfying ending.

In addition to being revised, the books have been given a new lease on life with fresh titles. Book One, originally titled
Circle in the Water
and now called
At the King's Command,
was the winner of a Holt Medallion. Book Two, originally called
Vows Made in Wine,
is now The
Maiden's Hand
, and was a finalist for a RITA
^®
Award. Book Three, also a RITA® Award finalist, was titled
Dancing on Air
and is now
At the Queen's Summons.

It is with pleasure that I invite you to step back in time, into a vanished world of court intrigue, where sovereigns ruled by the scaffold, and men and women dared to risk everything for love.

2009