The Faithful Heart (17 page)

 

“Don’t mention it. Now, your father wants to see you before he goes
to sleep. Will you please come?”

 

 

“Of course. But I don’t want to hear any complaints about my working
too hard when I come back here to finish totting up all my figures,”
Morgana warned as she joined Ruairc out in the corridor.

 

 

“You didn’t tell me what happened with the treasure,” Ruairc asked
as they walked along side by side.

 

 

Morgana explained about Niamh’s stolen dowry first.Then she informed
Ruairc, “Ronan is melting it down and minting it, so we will have
money to pay for all the things we need, and also to meet the high
duties we’re being charged on our shipping.”

 

 

His brows knit. “But you haven’t been trading. What duty is owing?”

 

 

Morgana highlighted the situation for him as they walked through the
great hall, and argued rationally, “If it’s a question of paying the
money and trading, or trying to find evidence of wrongful practices,
and not being permitted to trade anywhere in England or Ireland,
then the first choice is my only option. It doesn’t sit well with me
either, paying that two thousand pounds. It would have broken us if
we hadn’t got help from the O’Donnells. But now that we have the
money, we might as well use it where it will do most good, do you
see?”

 

 

“I do see. I'm beginning to see a lot of things,” Ruairc said
grimly.

 

 

He paused at the door to her father’s sick room.

 

 

“Aren’t you coming in?” Morgana asked, oddly disappointed that
Ruairc was leaving her alone.

 

 

“I've been with him most of the day. Your father wants to have some
time alone with you, I’m sure,” Ruairc said, backing away.

 

 

Morgana shrugged and went inside. Her father did indeed look much
brighter and he talked with her excitedly about all her plans.

 

 

“I am so glad you've started things off in this way. The castles are
crucial to the defence of our land, and I am pleased to know Ronan
will stand by you in times of crisis.”

 

 

“He’s coming to see you tomorrow, you know.”

 

 

“Wonderful! I haven’t seen him since, well....” Morgan trailed off.

 

 

“Since Conor died, Father.Say it. Too many things have been left
unsaid in this house,” Morgana sighed.

 

 

“Are you thinking of you and Ruairc? Or you and me?” Morgan
demanded.

 

 

“Both,” Morgana admitted.

 

 

“Are you two any closer to reaching an understanding?”

 

 

She shook her head, and gazed down at the interlaced fingers in her
lap. “No, Father. Sometimes I think this whole crisis is actually
driving us apart.Divided loves, divided loyalties.”

 

 

Morgan shook his head. “Ruairc’s loyalty and love have never been
divided. He loves you. He always has. You love the Maguire clan, but
so does he, even beyond his own brothers and cousins. There is no
reason for you to have to choose between the Maguires and Ruairc
when you can have both.”

 

 

“It seems selfish of me to put my own needs first.”

 

 

“You never have before, but maybe it’s about time you did. There's
nothing wrong in loving him and being happy. I know only too well
the shadow that has been cast upon you both, and I am sorry for my
part in it. But rest assured, you have my blessing if he is the man
you want.”

 

 

“I will think about it, really, Father,"she said, changing the
subject quickly. Want him she did, but it wasn't a simples as being
able to act upon her desires. She wasn't a simple country wench
aching for her man. She was destined to be
tanaist
or
destined for the convent. Until she made her final choice, she would
have to make sure she didn't act in a way that would remove her
options until she was sure of what she wanted.

 

 

"Now you get under that blanket and have a rest, won’t you?
Remember, you have a special pair of visitors coming, and you
wouldn’t want them to worry if they saw you looking tired and pale,
now would you?”

 

 

“No, you’re right.   Will you please blow out the candle, and
give me a kiss, daughter?” Morgan requested.

 

 

Morgana couldn’t recall ever having kissed her father before, but
she did so dutifully.

 

 

Morgan put his arms around her, and hugged her tightly.

 

 

“Good night, my dear. Thank you. Sleep well,” he murmured.

 

 

Morgana returned to her study slowly, stunned at the change in her
father. He had actually been kind to her, embraced her. It was only
a little thing, but it made such a difference. She was now more
eager than ever to make him proud of her.

 

 

Once she was back in her study, she made another list for her
proposed shopping trip to Clogher with Ruairc, and then laid her
throbbing head on the desk, telling herself it would only be for a
moment's rest.

 

 

“Morgana? Morgana? Are you in there?” Ruairc called from outside,
but she was too weary to answer.

 

 

He looked in and saw her slumbering soundly. Blowing out the candles
on the desk, Ruairc came over to the chair and lifted Morgana like a
small child. He carried her down the corridor to her room.

 

 

Morgana revelled in the warmth and comfort which emanated from his
huge solid frame.

 

 

“Oh, Ruairc,” Morgana murmured throatily as she nuzzled against him.

 

 

Ruairc struggled hard against the temptation to caress her. He had
promised, and taking advantage of her unconscious revelation of her
more tender feelings for him was not part of their bargain. He took
off her overgown and loosened the laces of her doublet, before
moving to peel off her trunk hose, and unbuckling her sword hilt
from around her slender waist.

 

 

Then he tucked her under the blanket, and stooped to give her a
tender kiss.

 

 

“Sweet dreams,
a stor
,” Ruairc whispered as he stroked
Morgana’s cheek.

 

 

Morgana was conscious of Ruairc leaving the room, and smiled softly.
He hadn’t pressed his lovemaking, but nevertheless she had got a
clear indication of his true feelings for her in the brief
interlude, without giving any of her own away.

 

 

Her lips still tingling from his passionate kiss, Morgana drifted
off into a dreamless sleep, content to be once more in her beloved
home with the people she cared about most in the world.

 

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

The following morning dawned cold and grey, and Morgana had to force
herself out of the bed. She stumbled over to the dresser, where a
bowl of freezing cold water was all she allowed herself for
ablutions.

 

 

“I need to clear my head,” she muttered aloud as she pulled fresh
clothes out of the carved oaken chest at the foot of her four-poster
bed. She dressed in a warm woollen tunic, and fetched her oldest but
most serviceable cloak.

 

 

Morgana’s first stop was the kitchen, where she began to make the
bread for the household. She noted angrily that while the village
had done without, Fergus and Aofa had seen to it that there was
plenty of good quality flour in the barrels.

 

 

Morgana made enough dough for forty loaves before leaving it to rise
and proof. She loaded the baking ovens with fuel, and pumping the
bellows vigorously, she finally got the blaze going well.

 

 

Then Morgana went out to the barn, and began to milk the cows. She
discovered that the yield was fairly poor, but again, once there was
good grass for them to eat, they would thrive.

 

 

Morgana brought the milk to the kitchen, where she poured out some
for the household’s use, and then another bucketful for making
butter. A third bucket she reserved for making her own cheese, and
the rest she put to one side to distribute to the village when the
bread was ready.

 

 

Morgana hunted in each bushel, and saw that there were plenty of
oats, and some rye and barley. They would serve to stretch out the
wheat flour, and Morgana also decided that porridge was the best
thing for breakfast in the mornings for the whole household. She
also took out some smoked kippers from the barrel in the store, and
soon was happily cooking breakfast for a dozen people.

 

 

Ruairc was the first one down to the great hall. He was closely
followed by Tomas and then Declan, who eagerly awaited their
father’s arrival so they could discuss the plans they had formulated
with Morgana.

 

 

Surprised that the chatelaine of the castle and head of the clan had
made breakfast, the three men thanked Morgana for the porridge.
Ruairc inwardly had reservations about her cooking skills, but said
nothing. He took a tentative spoonful, and then dug into his bowl
heartily.

 

 

“This is lovely,” he said, astonished at her ability to cook. She
had indeed changed in the past two years.

 

 

“Are there any more kippers?” Tomas asked, holding out his plate
hopefully.

 

 

Morgana served up the last of them, and went to the kitchen to cut
some slices of bacon off of one of the salted slabs. She returned to
the hall with a trencher and a pitcher of fresh milk and some wooden
cups.

 

 

Then she moved about sweeping out the hall, and laying fresh rushes
before the guests arrived.

 

 

She also climbed up on several stacked benches, and began to clean
the black grimy film left by numerous smoky fires from off the glass
windows.

 

 

“Really, Morgana, you have servants for that sort of thing,” Declan
protested anxiously, as he watched her balance precariously.

 

 

“Hard work never killed anyone, Declan, and besides, I’ve told you
already, I can’t lead the clan except by example. I will do whatever
job needs to be done around here, and without complaint. I will
expect the same from the clansmen, when they finally do return.”

 

 

“If they return,” Tomas pointed out.

 

 

“When,” Morgana maintained, and turned back to her scrubbing.

 

 

“What would you like us to do to help?” Ruairc offered, though he
saw the two O’Donnell men exchange depressed looks.

 

 

“For one thing, the horses need mucking out and exercise, so why
don’t you do a bit of hunting before Ronan and Niamh arrive?”

 

 

All three men looked relieved, but Ruairc felt guilty as he watched
her finish the windows and go back down into the kitchen. He brought
the dirty bowls down with him, and put them in the basin which he
filled with warm water from a kettle hanging on an iron in the
massive fireplace. He watched Morgana as she kneaded her dough
again, and then saw her laying out the huge slab of animal fat
stored to make candles.

 

 

“Morgana, really, that is a very hard job, all the stirring and
heating and cooling and so on. I would have you rest a little, go a
bit more slowly. You must have been up since five to do all those
chores.”

 

 

“Four, actually, but then I’m used to it at the convent. In any
case, the other women will be coming in soon to help me, and so the
least I can do is get the fat heated up.

 

 

"Then I have to muck out the pigs, and with any luck Ronan is
bringing us a new millstone from his quarry, and some grain which I
will no doubt have to pay dearly for. But I want the bakery up and
running again, and also the smithy and the other shops in the castle
precinct. After all, we can trade our made goods here in Ireland at
the markets, not just over the seas,” Morgana reasoned.

 

 

“A good point, my dear, but it won’t all be done overnight.”

 

 

“I know that, but why waste time?”

 

 

She continued to stir the fatty ooze until Mary came in to take her
place. Morgana then put two huge cauldrons of water over the fire to
boil. She tried to do it herself, but he rushed to help her get them
set up.

 

 

"What's all this for now?

 

 

“If you have any things which need to be washed, I think it’s about
time we did the laundry today.”

 

 

"You seem determined to overdo things—"

 

 

"I'm determined to make a fresh start. If you don't want to help me,
fine, but don't keep trying to stop me from doing what I think is
best."

 

 

He ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Damn it all,
whatever I try to do, I can't win, Morgana!" he rasped in a low
tone. "If I help you, you resent me. If I try to be caring and
concerned, you tell me I'm not helping. What am I supposed to do?"

 

 

"I didn't say—"

 

 

He took the third heavy cauldron out of her hand to fill it at the
pump. "You did say. I can't read your mind like an open book. Tell
me what you want me to do, and I'll do it. And yes, you are the
leader here, you have made that quite clear, my love, but you can't
do everything yourself. You need to delegate. It's what a good
leader does. There's no point in being head of the clan if you try
to do everything for them, and they sit idly by and watch you work
yourself into an early grave."

 

 

She looked as though she would argue with him, but he stopped
pumping and carried the filled cauldron over to where she had placed
the others.