Wild Roses (2 page)

Rescue? Despite her low spirits, Maire couldn't
suppress a smile. Triona? Whenever she thought of the incredible story since
told countless times in the O'Byrne feasting-hall, of a ruthless Norman baron and
even his own king bested by a copper-haired slip of a woman, Maire still felt a
sense of awe at her sister-in-law's brazen courage.

It amazed her even more that Triona forever insisted
she, Maire O'Byrne, possessed bravery that surpassed hers . . . especially now,
when she was feeling anything but courageous. In truth, she felt a coward. How
could she not, when she bore news that would break Niall's heart?

A burst of infectious laughter behind her made Maire
grip the reins so tightly, her fingers hurt, and she blinked against sudden
tears.

These past two years had forged a bond between herself
and Caitlin MacMurrough as close as sisters; it had been Triona who had
insisted Maire accompany Niall on his courting visits to Ferns not only to help
build her strength, but because she had believed Maire and Caitlin would become
fast friends. And so they had, though Maire almost wished now that she had
never made this last journey.

Caitlin's tearful revelation to her only hours ago had
cut her to the quick, but how could she not want her friend to be happy? Yet
Niall, poor Niall. He had waited so patiently, at Donal MacMurrough's firm
behest, for Caitlin to reach eighteen years before any talk of a wedding take
place, and now that date had come.

But so too, had come a change of heart for Caitlin as
sudden as a summer squall, or perhaps Maire had sensed the truth several months
ago but had refused to believe it. Refused to believe the radiant light in
Caitlin's eyes during their last visit when she had gazed not upon Niall
O'Byrne, but a strapping young Irishman of a neighboring clan, a godson of
Donal MacMurrough. It had been barely sunrise when Caitlin had come to Maire's
bedchamber, her lovely features as pale as her linen sleeping gown.

"Oh, Maire, what am I to do? I love Brian! I've
promised to wed him, too, but we haven't spoken to my father yet because of
Niall. He's been so good to me, so kind. I thought I loved him all this time,
truly I did, but Brian . . . Jesu forgive me, I don't know how to tell him!"

Caitlin had sunk upon the edge of the bed in despair,
her green eyes, so like Triona's, stricken with tears, her silken blond hair
falling across her face as she bent her head and wept. Maire had wept, too, for
her tenderhearted friend, for Niall, for something that clearly could never be
. . . then for the burden that was placed upon her as Caitlin desperately took
her hand.

"Maire, please, you must tell him for me. To see
Niall's eyes, the hurt. I couldn't bear it."

"Oh, Caitlin, no, I can't—"

"Aye, Maire, you must, it's the only way! But not
here, not until you return to Glenmalure. He'd want to find Brian, they'd
fight,
I
know it! And if either of them were wounded,
dear God, or worse—oh, please, Maire! Triona can help you. Triona will know
what to say to Niall."

Caitlin's pleading voice echoing in her mind, Maire
closed her eyes and prayed fervently that Triona would, indeed, know the right
words to say. Niall trusted her, had thought Triona the perfect match for Ronan
the moment he'd seen her and then done all he could to help bring them
together—

Another burst of laughter startled Maire, and so
abruptly that she jerked upon the reins, making her snow-white gelding
snort
and toss his head. At once it seemed Niall appeared at
her side, his hand reaching out to steady the prancing animal, his handsome
face grown sober with concern.

"Maire—"

"I'm fine, Niall, truly." Her cheeks hot with
chagrin, she wished she'd been more careful with her mount. All it ever took
was the slightest hint of difficulty to send
either Niall
,
Ronan, or both brothers rushing to her aid, their overprotectiveness of her
undiminished despite the miraculous progress she'd made.

Or so the priest who often visited from the monastery
in Glendalough claimed it to be, a miracle. Maire knew that regaining the use
of legs long denied her since a childhood fever, had taken months of hard work
as well as countless prayers in her bed at night that one day she might walk as
gracefully as Triona or Caitlin, or any other woman. She walked, that was true,
but graceful she was not, and wondered if she would ever be.

Mayhap it was that obvious flaw which kept her brothers
so
vigilant,
her awkward gait a constant reminder that
they must shield her from hurt of any kind. And after what had happened last
autumn . . .

Maire sighed softly, shoving the unhappy memories away
and glancing at Niall to find him studying her, his expression grown
thoughtful. At once she mustered a smile, but he didn't appear convinced.

"Begorra, little sister, that's a halfhearted
attempt if ever I've seen one. Out with it now. What's troubling you? You've
hardly spoken since we left Ferns, not like you at all" —a slow grin lit
Niall's face— "though I admit I'd be more worried if Triona ever grew
silent. Aye, that's a thought now, isn't it?"

His low chuckling doing much to quell her sense of
panic, Maire tried to keep her voice light. "Things wouldn't be half as
lively, to be sure. Not for Ronan, not for any of us."

"And they'll be livelier still when she hears
there's soon to be a wedding. Damned if it hasn't been the longest two years of
my life! Yet I'd never have met Caitlin if not for Triona, and we all know that
to be true. She'll think herself a fine matchmaker now, the very finest in
Wicklow . . . Maire?"

It happened so fast, tears welling in her eyes, that
Maire cursed that she'd never been one to conceal her emotions. Niall sharply
reined in his horse and dismounted, coming to her side.

"It's nothing to trouble
yourself
over, Niall O'Byrne, nothing," she said brokenly, knowing the wretched
sound of her voice alone would leave him anything but certain that all was
well. Within an instant she was pulled gently from her horse, Niall holding
fast to her arm as he drew her away from their clansmen, who had reined in
their mounts and waited silently, Fiach and several others keeping wary eyes
upon the surrounding woods.

"If it's nothing, then I'm deaf and blind,"
Niall said so gently when he stopped and faced her that Maire felt fresh tears
burn her eyes. "Now you'll tell me what's plaguing your heart . . . though
I've a sense of what it might be."

Suddenly unable to breathe, Maire stared at him,
wondering wildly what he might say. "Y-you do?"

"Aye, and if I could change things for you this very
moment, I swear I would. I know my happiness with Caitlin makes you long for
your own . . . and I'm certain it will come, in time. A fine husband, children.
Ronan may hold a different view, but only because he doesn't wish to see you
hurt again. Yet you can't allow what happened last year to make you think it's
impossible. Will you promise me, Maire?"

So relieved that she'd been spared telling Niall the
truth, at least for now, she could only nod, though the ache inside her had
grown near to choking her.

To hear Niall speak of a dream which had once seemed so
close to her grasp . . . only to turn to disaster and, for a time, throw such a
terrible wedge between Ronan and Triona that Maire had feared for their love.
Triona had never wanted but to help her, spending countless hours with her as
she learned to walk again and ride a horse, forever encouraging her, and even
finally convincing Ronan that he should consider finding Maire a husband.

Yet she didn't have to close her eyes to recall the
look upon Colin O'Nolan's face when the chieftain's son had come from the
Blackstairs Mountains in Carlow to meet her. She could still feel the
thunderous beating of her heart when she had so eagerly and hopefully walked
across the crowded feasting-hall toward the head table, knowing Colin had been
told of her legs and yet still wished to consider her for his bride . . . only
to reach him and feel all hope die.

Saints help her, how could she ever forget the dismay,
even repulsion, on his face as if he wondered whether her lower limbs were made
of uneven blocks of wood rather than flesh and blood?

How could she ever forget mortification and anguish so
deep, the pain cut her still?

How could she ever have dreamed any man would want a
wife who dragged one leg behind her and swayed like a hobbled horse when there
were other young women both healthy and whole . . . ?

Gazing blindly across the sunswept meadow, Maire
brushed away tears that fell as much for Niall as herself, yet she allowed
herself only a moment's self-pity. With time the memories would fade, and,
after all, she had much for which to be thankful. A family who truly loved her.
Ronan and Triona's little Deirdre, whose sweet smile could brighten any day.
And, right now, Niall deserved her only concern.

"One of Ronan's prize cattle, did you say?"
she somehow managed to tease, grateful when Niall's endearing, familiar grin
cut across his face. Aye, she would hold her unhappy news until they were
safely home, where Triona and Ronan both could help sway Niall from doing anything
rash. "I feel a wee bit of an appetite myself. Too bad we'll have to wait
hours before a feast could be prepared—"

"Mayhap not." Niall looped his arm securely
through hers as he drew her back toward the horses. "I thought I might
ride ahead and share with our brother that a MacMurrough bride will soon be
coming to Glenmalure. That is, if you wouldn't mind our clansmen escorting you
home. I know Fiach is a sober sort, but every once in a while he manages a
smile."

"He'll make fine company. I don't mind at
all." As she was lifted back onto her mount, Maire decided it was a good
thing Niall leave them, for her heart began to ache anew that he looked so
merry.

With a last squeeze of her hand, he vaulted onto his
horse's back and wheeled the powerful bay stallion around, calling out to Fiach
and the rest of their clansmen to guard her well and see her swiftly home as he
galloped headlong across the meadow. In moments, he had disappeared into the
thick trees, and only then did Maire let her cheerful facade crumble.

But not so her clansmen could see her distress, all of
them riding a length behind her as they set off at a canter. Keeping her face
forward, she let the tears come. The horses' thundering hooves drowned out her
prayer that Niall not think Donal MacMurrough had somehow encouraged Caitlin's
change of heart and swear vengeance.

That the chieftain had allowed the younger brother of
the legendary rebel Ronan "Black" O'Byrne to court his much-beloved
daughter had shown the truce was solid between the two clans. Yet peace was
forever so fragile—

"Ah, God!"

The agonized cry had come from behind her, Maire
gasping as an arrow zinged past her ear, another O'Byrne suddenly shrieking in
pain. Incredulous, she jerked hard on the reins and spun her horse around as
another arrow struck a third clansman in the throat, her eyes widening in
horror at the blood spurting from the wound. At once Fiach O'Byrne, his bearded
face stricken, spurred his mount to her side.

"Normans, Maire! The devil take them, ride with
you! Ride with you after Niall!"

Chapter 2

Dear God, Normans? So close to the Wicklow Mountains?

Almost in a daze, she stared at the host of mounted
knights bursting from the opposite trees, their terrifying battle cries
chilling her, their mail shirts and brandished swords blinding in the sun.

"Saints preserve you, woman,
ride
!"

Maire cried out as Fiach slapped her gelding's flank,
the startled animal lunging so suddenly into motion that she nearly lost her
seat. Desperately she grabbed the horse's snowy mane and held on, her throat
constricting in disbelief as the terrible clamor of sword hitting sword rang
over the meadow. She was already into the trees where Niall had disappeared
moments ago when she heard more screams, hideous death screams. Her flesh
crawled with fear.

None of her clansmen had ridden after her. At least she
thought none, until the heavy pounding of hooves made her hope wildly, giddily,
that she wasn't alone. Swiping the hair from her face, she dared a glance over
her shoulder, only to feel her stomach knot in terror.

Three Normans were bearing down upon her like
apparitions of hell covered from head to toe in fearsome metal, their
horses
great lunging behemoths to her smaller mount. It was
then she began to pray desperately that Niall was nowhere near, that he
wouldn't hear her screams and return to harm's way. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph,
protect him! Protect her!

With cramped fingers she clutched the gelding's coarse
mane all the tighter, her cheek pressed to his sweaty neck, her breath tearing
at her throat as the animal weaved and raced through the trees at a breakneck
pace that rekindled a shred of hope that she might yet escape. As if in a
blurred dream the forest flew past her, flashes of deep green melding with
mottled sunlight and an occasional brilliant shaft that broke through the dense
leaves. She squinted against the sudden brightness, daring once more to lift
her head and look behind her . . .

It happened so fast, a violent thud and then pain so intense
that Maire scarcely realized she was lying sprawled upon the ground, a
low-hanging branch wavering and shimmering above her. And again came the
piercing sunlight through the leaves, blinding her as she fought to drag air
into her lungs, fought to fend off the strange darkness threatening to
overwhelm her as the terrible throbbing in her head grew stronger, more fierce.
Dazedly she heard horses snorting and blowing, and men's voices growing near.