Wild Roses (21 page)

"Rogue Normans. Traitors. It was easily
done."

"But for an Irish girl?"

Duncan didn't readily answer, staring at her again, his
eyes darkening to almost black. Maire shivered, glimpsing pain there too.

"I protect all that is mine—though I came too late
to help the girl. Just as I would protect you with my life."

Maire didn't doubt he meant it, his voice grown so low
and vehement that fresh shivers coursed through her, his gaze as intense. She
felt marked, claimed, even as he reached out a hand to draw her toward him.

"No rebel Irish or treasonous Normans will drive
me from my land. It is my home—our home, Rose, once you become my bride. Adele
and any others who oppose our marriage
be
damned."

Duncan so close now that Maire knew he would kiss her,
she couldn't breathe, her heart pounding as much at the fierce determination in
his eyes as that she knew even at that moment Ronan was as determined to find
her. That these two men might meet and come to blows . . . saints help her,
each intent
upon killing the other—

"No, please!"

Her hoarse cry echoing in the trees and sending a flock
of birds fluttering into the air, Maire twisted away from Duncan and stared
blindly at the roses scattered in her lap. She knew she had startled him almost
as much as
herself
, sensing his tension while she'd
never felt her face so warm. She didn't know what to say, yet she had to say
something, anything to explain why . . .

"F-forgive me, Duncan, but it isn't right, aye, it
isn't right—"

"What isn't right, woman?"

"That . . . that we should kiss here—in this
place." Wildly, Maire looked around her. "It was a church once, aye,
and
look
over there!" She pointed, chills
striking her indeed, that a cluster of worn gravestones, half-buried by
trailing vines and underbrush, could have missed her attention until now.
"It isn't right, truly—"

"It couldn't be more right."

He'd taken her arm again, drawing her toward him as
Maire met his eyes in astonishment to find him smiling at her—smiling!

"If a church, wouldn't weddings have taken place
at this spot?"
came
his teasing query while he
pulled her closer. "We will soon be husband and wife. What could be more
sacred than to honor those who came before us . . .
"

He didn't finish, his lips covering hers and so gently,
Maire felt as if all thought fled even as all sensation centered upon his mouth
warm and yet so achingly light against hers. Unconsciously she parted her lips
and leaned toward him, a sigh escaping her, a soft plea giving voice to the
yearning that suddenly flared inside her as his arms tightened fiercely around
her.

For one blinding instant his mouth grew hard,
passionate, and she was lost, utterly lost, her fingers clutching at his tunic
while his hand found her breast, his thumb circling a taut nipple through the
pale silk of her gown. But when she started and moaned, he drew away from her
almost abruptly, his breathing ragged, no hint of teasing left in his eyes. Her
breath was gone and she waited, her senses reeling, her heart racing, his mouth
still so close to hers, so close . . .

"Woman, we'll be no strangers to each other in
more than mind and heart if I kiss you so again . . . unless you wish it. You
must tell me . . ."

She stared into his eyes, realizing as a blush crept over
her face at the raw huskiness of his voice, conscious thought swiftly
returning, that he was asking if she wanted him to . . . if they might—

"No, Rose, say nothing. Forgive me. This is not
the time or place—God's teeth, you deserve better than the ground . . ."

Frowning as if angry with himself, he released her,
while Maire felt utterly shaken from the last moments, her heart still
thundering.

Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, what might she have said?
Flushing because she knew all too well the answer, she tried to avoid Duncan's
eyes, which only made him curse under his breath while he tore off a hunk of
crusty bread.

"We should eat. It's well past midday."

The sound of the wind rustling through the trees and
birds chirping overhead seemed deafening to Maire in the face of Duncan's
silence, his expression grim as he handed her the bread topped with a generous
wedge of ewe's cheese. His darkened mood pained her, and she found herself
wishing to see him smile once more, a memory to store for that day when . . .

Fresh heartache stabbing her, Maire made
herself
eat, but she had no more appetite than Duncan
appeared to. When he handed her the leather flask after taking a draught of
wine himself, she knew the weighty silence couldn't continue between them.
Mayhap even now he was thinking again of what she'd said of the roses, mayhap
wondering, too, why she didn't seem more pleased at the way events had turned,
and that alone spurred her to speak.

"Duncan?"

He met her eyes, and she felt such a rush of emotion
for this man she'd not known lived and breathed only days ago that she found it
difficult to continue.

"I . . . I want to thank you. It was a kind
thing—you agreeing to marry me—"

"Kindness had little to do with it, nor pity. I
told you that last night."

Aye, so he had, Maire blushing deeply as she remembered
his stirring words, his impassioned kiss, his hands upon her. Duncan's gaze
grown intense, she sensed he shared her thoughts, too.

"I want you for my wife, Rose. I've said those
words only once before, and thought never to say them again to any woman. But
when I believed I'd lost you at the bog . . ."

His voice died away, and Maire followed his eyes to the
weathered gravestones, wondering with a pang if he was thinking of her at that
moment or another woman from long ago. Yet was that so terrible a thing? He
must have suffered so wretchedly, just as Lady Enid had said. Maire's throat
grew so tight that she could only whisper.

"She was very beautiful, wasn't she? Gisele?"

Maire saw the flicker of pain cross Duncan's face even
as he once more met her gaze.

"Yes. Like the sun."

She could tell just in how he'd
answered,
his voice heavy with memory, that he must have loved Gisele very much. Yet
might he feel for her even a little of what he'd known before to want her to be
his bride? A fervent wish filled her that she could so move his heart. Maire
dropped her gaze to the fragrant roses forgotten in her lap as tears suddenly
stung her eyes.

Fool. Aye, so she had called herself last night and so
she was again today! Would such a love even be enough to overcome the
impossible barrier that birth and circumstance had thrust upon them? It was not
to be! How many times must she—

"Rose."

Maire started, as much at the warm timbre of Duncan's
voice as that his fingers gently lifted her chin to face him. His eyes searched
hers.

"Who told you of Gisele?"

Maire didn't readily answer, fearful that the emotion
in her voice might betray her even as a tear slid down her cheek. She drew in
her breath when he wiped it away with his thumb, somehow saying brokenly,
"L-Lady Enid. And Flanna and Adele made mention of a . . . a ghost, though
I didn't know until last night of whom they spoke."

"A ghost." Duncan sighed heavily though his
eyes never left hers. "So Gisele's been for six years now, haunting me,
and it wouldn't be fair that you not know what came before. I found her cloak
floating in a pond . . ."

His voice grew hoarse and Maire's heart went out to
him, that he should still feel such anguish. But she wasn't prepared for the
vehemence with which he spoke again.

"Her family opposed me from the start—I was
penniless, thanks to my three half brothers. After our father's death they
disavowed my mother, saying she had never truly wed my father and no record
could be found to prove it, the priest who performed the ceremony long dead.
They shut her away in a tower and claimed her mad, while I became no more than
the bastard my father had spawned—half-Scots as well, which made me no better
than the dirt beneath their feet. A barbarian child to be spit upon and cuffed
at every turn, only my name marking me as a FitzWilliam."

Duncan's tone become so bitter, Maire was struck even
more that his hands had clenched
into fists as if he struggled to contain his anger.

"They took everything from me, my inheritance, my
birthright, but I left Northumberland at sixteen and made my way on my own. And
Gisele waited for me—we'd known each other since we were children. After years
in King John's army, I made my suit to her family, but a soldier's pay and the
promise of knighthood wasn't enough. I was believed a bastard . . . and for
that I've my own blood family to blame. Their treachery cost me Gisele's
life—we were to wed secretly, there was no other way, our every meeting
concealed from her family. Even the last one that morning when she
drowned—God's teeth, and Adele comes to Ireland now that I'm two years a baron
and demands she choose for me a bride!"

Maire could only stare while Duncan's fury echoed
around them, her heart pounding at all he had revealed. Yet the roar of blood
in her ears grew louder that his gaze hadn't once strayed from hers, his voice
as vehement.

"
I
have
chosen my bride—as Irish as the land that's become my home. It's only fitting that
our children will bear the blood of their place of birth in their veins.
They'll fight all the harder to protect it, just as I do now."

Duncan fell silent, still staring into her eyes, though
he reached up a hand to touch her face. Maire slowly drew in her breath as once
more he traced a thumb over her cheek, something burning in his eyes which made
her heart seem to stop as he spoke almost to himself more than her.

"Only God can say . . . but perhaps it was meant
to be this way all along . . ."

His thumb moving to gently caress her lips, Maire
couldn't move, couldn't even breathe, Lady Enid's words suddenly burning as
intensely in her mind.

I saw how Lord
FitzWilliam looked at you tonight, child, that promise has already taken root.

Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, could it really be that Duncan
might love—

"My lord!"

Maire gasped even as Duncan grabbed his sword and
lunged to his feet and she struggled with his help to rise, too, while Reginald
Montfort came galloping astride a lathered steed toward them. The grim-faced
knight had barely reined in his mount before Duncan exploded.

"Dammit, man, what the devil—"

"Baron, forgive me, but you said where you could
be found if there was need. Word has come from Meath! The O'Melaghlin refuses
to answer your summons. And he has sworn that if his grandsons and the harper
aren't freed to return home, he'll slay five of your tenants for every day that
you hold his clansmen imprisoned beyond week's end."

Duncan's oath was blistering to hear, and it seemed in
no more than an instant Maire had been lifted onto his stallion and Duncan
vaulted into the saddle behind her. Gone was his fervent expression of moments
before, his thunderous scowl truly ominous to behold.

She could only imagine what he intended to do about the
O'Melaghlin's threat and his prisoners, and she thought again of the hatred he
bore for Ronan, icy chills overwhelming her. As Duncan kicked his steed into a
hard gallop, she braced herself against him while his arms tightened
protectively around her, the rose she'd swept up from the ground without
thinking crushed in her hand.

Chapter 20

Maire still held the wilted petals hours later, the
bright glare of guttering torches held aloft hurting her eyes as much as mere
shifting in the saddle made her ache with weariness.

Only the formidable walls and towers of Longford Castle
looming ahead gave her some comfort that the long ride was nearly done. They
had stopped only twice since leaving Dublin, Duncan pushing his men as hard as
himself that they might reach the castle not long after dark.

Lady Enid had protested that Maire be made to keep such
a fierce pace, but Duncan wouldn't hear of allowing others to escort her to
Meath the next day, which had warmed Maire as well as filled her with despair.
At least then she would have had no fear of Duncan and Ronan coming
face-to-face if her brother had managed to discover her whereabouts and been
waiting somewhere outside the city to rescue her. She was exhausted—much in
part because the entire journey she'd dreaded a surprise attack; Ronan would
not do otherwise.

But no attack had come and the well-lit battlements of
Longford Castle soared now above them, the fortress ablaze with torches. She
could hear men shouting from inside the walls and a great creaking of chains as
the drawbridge was lowered, while Duncan drew her closer against him. He'd not
allowed her to ride by herself either, concerned she would not be able to keep
up.

"We're home, Rose. Forgive me for the haste but
there was nothing to be done."

Home? Fresh pain cut Maire, the memory of the emotion
she'd seen burning in Duncan's eyes haunting her still. Yet even if it was what
she so wished for, what she'd long dreamed of, Longford Castle could never be
her home. She only nodded, her gaze lifted to the towering gatehouse as they
rode across the drawbridge, the pounding of hooves deafening.

When might she leave again? Would she be with Duncan?
He had said that he wanted to keep her safe at his side, though she knew he was
the one who would not be safe from Ronan as long as she remained with him.

Yet what was she to do? She'd spent the journey, too,
wondering futilely how she might leave the castle without notice and wishing
Flanna had given her some word as to how she had planned to help her. But
Duncan's former mistress probably hated her now. Maire could hope for no aid
there—