L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep (5 page)

Lady Moira stared out at the sea, then shifted her attention to
the twisted veil in her lap. Why did she hesitate to answer now, when she’d
been so forthcoming with information before?

And why had her eyes filled with tears, when talk of her
husband’s death had left them dry?

He reached down and caught her hands in one of his. “Milady?”

“Dermot MacCarthy was a young man, no more than thirty, I would
guess.” A tear traced its way down her cheek unchecked. “He was hale and
strong, but Lord Brien’s rage was so immense … He fought like a wolf—cunning,
wily. He felt the stain on his honor could only be washed away with
blood—either his enemy’s or his own. I don’t believe he cared which.” She released
her grip on the veil and, pushing Connor’s hand away, stood and faced him.

Grimacing, she clutched at her stomach.

“′Tis enough, milady. I should not have insisted you speak
of this now. I wish no harm to come to either you or Lord Brien’s child.”

Tears poured down her face. She wiped them away with her veil,
then tossed it to the wind. Hands placed upon her belly as though protecting
the babe, she said, “Your concern may be misplaced, milord. I’m surprised you
haven’t heard already—especially with Sir Ivor so busy spewing poison into
every ear that will listen. This babe I carry may not be my husband’s.” She
took a step closer to him, her eyes meeting his. “There’s just as much chance ′tis
Dermot MacCarthy’s child.”

Moira watched—waited—to see the look of shock cross Lord Connor’s
face, to see condemnation or distaste fill his dark brown eyes. When it did
not, she simply stood there, uncertain what to do.

What more could she say, after the revelation she’d just made?

He nodded finally. “I had wondered what could have forced your
husband to meet a man half his age in hand-to-hand combat. Now I understand.
MacCarthy took you captive?” He glanced down as a flush tinted his face, then
looked up and held her gaze, his eyes earnest, intent. “Raped you?”

More tears filled Moira’s eyes, tears of relief—of disbelief. How
was it that this man, who knew nothing of her, did not immediately believe
she’d willingly given herself to Dermot, and that her husband had found out?

′Twas what Sir Ivor
thought.
He’d
made no secret of it.

But Lord Connor was wrong in his account, as well, though she’d
no intention of sharing the complete truth of the matter with him.

With anyone.

“MacCarthy waited till Lord Brien and a troop of men left
Gerald’s Keep—lured him away, I’ve always believed, though I’d no way of
proving it. The MacCarthys came in force soon after, their army flush with
reinforcements from some of the other Irish families hereabouts.” The sound of
their war cries, the clash of battle and the moans of the dying echoed in her
mind, sending a chill down her spine. “It had been quiet here, peaceful, for a
long time. We grew lax, relaxed our vigilance too much. They found it a simple
matter to overcome our defenses, since most of our fighting men had gone with
Lord Brien.”

“What did they do?” he asked.

“Once they’d fought their way into the keep itself, they gathered
all our people into the bailey.” She closed her eyes, reliving again the terror,
the helplessness that had nearly overwhelmed her, until she’d realized that
only she remained to fight for the people of Gerald’s Keep. That knowledge
alone had permitted her to master her fear, to meet their invaders with her
head high, her courage renewed.

“I come from a family of warriors, milord.” She laughed, the
sound as harsh as the memories prompting it. “My father was infamous as a man
who would fight over the most trifling matters. And my brothers are worse.”
Meeting Lord Connor’s gaze, she added, “But I’ve never met, before or since,
anyone who took such pleasure from war as Dermot MacCarthy did. He gloried in
it, savored every moment he held sway over his opponent.” Her voice shook; she
took a deep breath and waited, hoping ′twould calm her, but it made no
difference.

Lord Connor took her hand and led her back to the rock where
they’d sat before, releasing her as soon as he’d settled beside her. “Such a
man is not a warrior, milady. That is not honorable behavior.”

“There was nothing honorable about Dermot MacCarthy,” she said,
sorrow closing her throat till she could scarce say the words. “But I did not
realize that fact until ′twas too late to change the course I had set
upon.” She stared out at the sea, at the gulls wheeling and swooping on the
wind. Their freedom made a mockery of her life, pulling tight upon the tangled
threads she’d woven about herself …

And everyone within her milieu.

How she wished she could send Lord Connor away, before he found
himself wound firmly within this sticky web! But ′twas already too late
for that, she knew, too late for all of them.

God alone knew how this would end. All she knew was that it could
only end badly for her.

She prayed no one else might suffer for her folly.

Lord Connor touched her arm, his hand gentle, until she met his
gaze again. “Milady, I know it must pain you to relive this. I’m a stranger to
you, and you likely wish me to the devil for pressing you, but I must know what
happened here if I’m to protect you and your child, your people. I beg your forgiveness,
but I
will
learn the truth of it, and
soon.” He sighed. “I believe I’ll hear a more honest account from you than from
d’Athée. Tis clear he’s no friend to you, or to anyone with Irish blood flowing
in their veins.” He nudged her with his shoulder, his mouth curling into a
faint smile. “The fool.”

Moira couldn’t help but smile in return, though the thought of
Sir Ivor and his lies wiped away the brief sense of sharing she’d felt. “You’ve
the right of it, milord, but ′tis not because I’m Irish that Sir Ivor
hates me—at least that’s not the only reason. He’s always borne me a grudge,
whether from jealousy or something else, I cannot say. He was very loyal to
Lord Brien.”

“Whatever the cause, I doubt he’s capable of speaking on the
topic of the MacCarthys—or you—for more than a word or two without his true
feelings tainting everything he says.” Connor shifted on the rock so that he
bore the brunt of the wind pounding at them. “I’ll take my chances with you,
milady, and trust you won’t prove me wrong to have done so.”

As Connor watched her, he could see the internal struggle she
waged revealed on her face, in her eyes. He doubted she could lie with any
success at all. He hoped he was right, for he needed the truth from
someone
here, and she appeared the most
likely candidate.

At last she focused her expressive blue eyes on his face, as
though judging him, weighing
him
. “I
thank you, Lord Connor, for your trust—and your honesty. I will try to live up
to it, I promise you.” A shudder passed through her. “You’ve the right of it,
though ′tis a hard thing to admit to you what a fool I was. Stranger or
no, ′twould be difficult either way.” She huddled deeper into the loose
folds of her gown, tempting him to wrap his arms about her for warmth, for
comfort—for whatever she needed. Willpower alone kept him from doing so; she’d
not welcome such familiarity from a stranger, nor did he wish to tempt himself
further.

Sitting next to her, being enveloped in her nearness, her scent,
the
feel
of her, was temptation
enough as it was.

She laid her hand on his forearm, surprising him. “I trust
you
to do all you can to help me protect
my child, milord. I know your brother to be a kind and honorable man. Tis clear
to me that you are no less so. The FitzCliffords have dealt fairly with the
FitzGeralds
till now, and I believe you’ll continue to do
so.”

“You honor me, milady.”

Sighing, she turned her gaze to the sea. “I cannot tell you these
things to your face, milord. ′Tis too embarrassing. I hope you don’t
mind.”

“Nay, do what you must.” Since he already found it difficult to
distance himself from her, perhaps this might help.

“When MacCarthy gathered everyone in the bailey, his brother Hugh
dragged the maids and me from my solar, where the men had sent us when the
assault on the castle began. Hugh is a rough man, coarse of tongue and foul
minded. ′Twas only Brigit’s intervention that kept him from stripping me
to my shift before we reached the bailey. As it was, he’d ripped my tunic and
unbound my hair, bruising my face and arms in the process. He forced me to
stand before them all looking as though I’d just . .
. ”

As her voice faded away, she reached out and grasped Connor’s
hand in a tight grip. Her words made his blood run hot; when he finally met
Hugh MacCarthy, he’d see that the bastard paid for what he’d done that day.

“It looked as if he’d taken me already,” she continued. “His men
proved as foul mouthed as he, shouting their filth and stirring my people into
a frenzy, though they could do nothing to protect me.” Her fingers tightened.
“Indeed, the MacCarthys’ men used it as an excuse to lay about with fists and
cudgels once again. My servants were no threat to them, yet they seemed to take
great pleasure in ‘subduing’ them.”

The picture she painted did not surprise him, though he found it
disgusting. He knew well the pleasure some men took in wielding whatever power
they had over any within their reach who could not—or would not, he thought
with a frown—fight back.

He turned his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together.
“I’d expect no less from dishonorable men.”

She looked at him, her eyes bright with tears, but didn’t free
herself from his hold. “Dermot joined us on the landing then. He looked nothing
like his brother or his men—he was clean, his garb fine, of good quality. He
approached us and bowed to me most courteously before knocking Hugh off his
feet with one blow. I thought then that he would prove different from Hugh and
the others, perhaps free my people, or at least cease their torment. He’d
treated me with courtesy … But ′twas all a sham.”

Connor’s respect for the woman beside him grew with each word she
spoke. ′Twas obvious she was the daughter and sister of warriors, for she
had a keen eye and a clear manner of describing what had happened. She must
have been frightened at the time—terrified, more like—yet she’d taken notice of
her surroundings, made judgments based upon what she’d seen. “What did Dermot
do?”

“He stepped over Hugh, still sprawled on the landing, took me by
the hands and led me away from his brother. ‘I will spare your people,’ he told
me. I was so pleased, for they’d done naught but serve their rightful lord.
They had no choice in the matter, and didn’t deserve to be punished for it.”

“That wouldn’t stop most men in MacCarthy’s position from doing
so,” Connor said. “It happens all the time. Given what you’ve said about his
family, I find his offer surprising.”

“I did as well,” she whispered. “Still, I couldn’t help but be
glad they’d be spared any further punishment. I should have realized as soon as
he said the words that
someone
would
have to pay the price for his generosity.”

“′
Twas
you who paid,” Connor
muttered, disgust at such cowardice making his voice shake. “He took you in
return for sparing them.”

“He gave me a choice,” she said quietly. “A night’s passion with
him in return for their lives. He’d already taken Gerald’s Keep. Considering I
had nothing else to offer, and no way to best him, it seemed little enough
sacrifice when so many might be saved.”

“You are a brave woman, Lady Moira FitzGerald.” Connor made no
effort to hide his admiration. “Few noble ladies would trade their virtue to
save the lives of servants.”

“′Tis not as though I were a virgin,” she murmured, so low
he could scarce hear her.

He reached out to smooth an errant strand of hair away from her
face, letting his hand linger against her cheek, attempting to provide the
comfort he could see she needed. “Your experience—or lack of it—matters little.
For him to force an unwilling woman to his bed is despicable.”

Though her eyes remained dry, he could not mistake the depth of
her pain. He wanted to take her into his arms, to give her comfort, but it was
not his place to do so.

Nor could she possibly wish that from him. By the rood, she’d
think him no better than Dermot MacCarthy!

He slipped his hand from her cheek. “You gave him what he asked
for?” She glanced away, nodding once. “And he kept his part of the bargain?”

“Nay,” she whispered. “He simply waited till he’d taken what he
wanted from me before he ordered his brother to resume his torment of my
people.” She pressed her hands to her face, covering her eyes for a moment as
though she might shut out the memory. “Five people died before my husband
returned with his troops and fought his way inside.” Her body shaking, she slid
her hands into her lap, fingers clenched together so tightly her knuckles
showed white. “Dermot taunted Lord Brien with what he—what
we
—had done, threw the words in his face like a gage to challenge
my husband, to enrage him to the point of foolishness.”

Connor leaped to his feet and spun to face her. “No man could
ignore such an affront to his wife!”

She looked as though his words confused her. “′
Twas
the affront to his own honor he fought to avenge, not
mine, milord.”

Then he was a fool
,
Connor thought, though he didn’t express that sentiment out loud. ′Twould
serve no purpose to speak ill of the dead, especially to the man’s widow.

“If I hadn’t accepted Dermot’s offer, my husband might still be
alive, milord.”

“Or you might be dead, and many of your people with you,” Connor
said flatly. “Most likely MacCarthy would have had you anyway. I doubt he’d
have allowed your refusal of him to stand in the way of taking what he
desired.”

“Perhaps.” Without the shield of his body beside her, the wind
whipped at her hair and molded her loose gown about her rounded figure, making
her appear a part of the lush land surrounding her—untamed, alive, ripe. He
shook his head to clear away the fanciful image.

“′Tis my sin to bear that I caused my husband’s death,
however long it took to occur. I’ll do penance for that, and for my infidelity,
for as I long as I live. Yet despite everything that has happened, I cannot be
sorry, for by my actions I saved all but five of our people.” Opening her
hands, she cupped them about her rounded belly. “And perhaps created this
child.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes dark, intense. “I cannot regret
this child, no matter what the circumstances of his making. But I cannot allow
his existence to lead to more deaths, more fighting, either. That is why we
need your help.”