Wild Roses (33 page)

As much fresh pain as determination filling him, Duncan
was not surprised that he thought, too, of Rory O'Melaghlin earlier that day
reunited with his two grandsons and Finian, his harper, the proud old
chieftain's face lit by such astonishment and gratitude Duncan couldn't help
but be moved.

Maire had been
right,
no
matter she'd suggested such a course as a means for her own escape. The
O'Melaghlin had readily agreed to peace, even offering to join him in fighting
against any rogue Normans before Duncan had even spoken of it, and vowing as
well that no more cattle would be stolen from the baron of Longford's herds.

"Duncan . . . ?"

He met her eyes, her voice shaking, her face pale, and
he spoke with a voice that sounded ragged to him as well. "No, woman, I'll
not use you to hurt your brother. All you've done these past days, all you've
said . . . I cannot blame you. You came to me against your will. It's only
right that I release you."

A hush fell in the room, the only sound the logs
crackling in the hearth, though Maire heard little but her heartbeat thundering
in her ears.

Release her?
Had Duncan truly said . . . ? Incredulous, she could but stare at him, her
knees suddenly grown so weak she braced herself against the table for fear she
might collapse.

He had burst into the room so furiously, she had thought
the worst, aye, expected the worst, his dark eyes so filled with anger, his
first words to her uttered in a voice so hard that her legs had nearly given
way. She had spent tortuous hours agonizing over Gerard's threat and assuming
that Duncan must surely agree with his knight. She had never imagined . . .

"Your brothers followed us here, I'm certain of
it. Once you leave Ennell Castle and ride to the south, you'll not be long by
yourself."

Duncan spoke as if a plan even now formed in his mind, while
Maire could only nod, still dumbstruck. He'd said brothers as well, and she
realized then that Duncan must have been the one to lift her from the ground
after Gerard had struck her; he must have heard her pleading for both Ronan and
Niall.

And he must have undressed her last
night,
too, Maire found herself thinking, as Duncan went to the bench in front of the
hearth where she'd draped her cloak to dry.

Aye,
changed her out of her
wet clothing and into a sleeping gown and covered her with blankets—saints help
her, why hadn't she considered that until now? Warmth flooded her when Duncan
gathered up her cloak and came toward her; that he would assist her even in
this small way made her tremble anew. Surely if he hated her, he wouldn't—

"Is it true, woman, that you've always loved wild
roses?"

Maire met his eyes, drawing in her breath as much at
his low query as that he stood so close to her to settle the cloak around her
shoulders. "A-aye . . . the red ones best of all."

"Like those we saw at the ruins."

Slowly she nodded, her heart pounding, an emotion
passing across his handsome face that she could not name.

"And you're fond of embroidery? You possess such
skill, I thought you must be."

Maire could not speak for a moment as she searched his
eyes, wondering that he would ask her such things but feeling relieved too,
that she could finally share the truth.

"Aye, I did little else until I regained the use
of my legs two years past—but mine is no match for your mother's, God rest her.
I've never seen such fine needlework . . ."

Maire fell still at the sudden hard lump in her throat,
such intense regret filling her that she'd never been able to speak so openly
with him before. And he with her—Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, might he feel the
same? Was that why he'd posed such questions? He seemed about to ask her
something else, only to suddenly curse under his breath, his expression grown
hard again.

"Come. It's time we go."

He began to move away, but Maire reached out before she
even realized what she was doing and caught his arm. "Duncan, wait, I want
you to know—" She faltered at the intensity in his eyes as he turned to
face her but made herself rush on almost recklessly. "Your mother—she
could only have been good and kind to have a son such as you. And she wasn't mad,
couldn't have been mad to have made a thing so beautiful as that screen. Yet
that you came by it given your half brothers—"

"They didn't steal everything from me. The
needlework was secreted from the tower by a loyal servant, the screen fashioned
at my mother's wish. She bade the woman to keep it safely hidden from those who
might destroy it, and so the screen was, for years, until I sent for it after I
won the barony. A gift to a son she swore upon her deathbed was as true a
FitzWilliam as the love she'd borne for her husband—God's teeth, she might have
named me a fool as well!"

Maire was startled that Duncan pulled away his arm and
strode out onto the landing; his face had grown so grim that she doubted he
wished to say anything more at all. Yet he watched her intently as she joined
him, and she swore she saw emotion raging in his eyes that made her heart race
all the harder . . . saints help her, pain so vivid that she knew then as
surely as she breathed that he did not hate her.

"The steps are too many."

He said no more but swept her into his arms, Maire
never more tempted to reveal what raged inside her. Yet after all that had
happened, would he believe how much she loved him? And even if he did, Ronan,
Niall, and the rest of her clansmen still waited outside the castle, the chasm
separating her from Duncan as wide and terrible as before.

Tears bit her eyes as they descended the narrow
stairway but she forced them away, telling herself, too, that just because
Duncan was releasing her didn't mean his hatred for Ronan ran any less deep.
And what of Gerard? What of Adele? Begorra, who was truly the fool? It was not
to be! Ever since she'd seen the empty moat, she had prayed for nothing more
than a way to escape the castle so she might protect Duncan, and now he was
setting her free himself

"Lord FitzWilliam!"

Maire felt Duncan tense as Edward de Valognes, the
swarthy knight who'd appeared at the battlements that morning to shout down at
them, came lunging up the steps.

"Rebels, my lord, we've sighted them moving toward
the castle! I've crossbowmen positioned and ready to fire atop the towers, it's
not too dark yet—"

"Dammit, man, I gave no such orders!"

Duncan's roar ringing in her ears, Maire found herself
set abruptly upon her feet and left behind as he pushed past his knight, de
Valognes glancing at her with some surprise before turning to rush after him.
It seemed within an instant they were gone, the distant sound of a door
slamming while Maire sank onto a step, stricken.

Crossbowmen were ready to fire? God help them, at
Ronan? Niall? She started at a clap of thunder so violent that the tower around
her seemed to quake, but it served to rouse her shakily to her feet and her
gaze flew down the spiraling steps. Somehow she had to get to the tower
battlements. Somehow . . .

She didn't think further but kept one hand pressed to
the wall as she did her best to hurry, cursing that she couldn't move faster
than what seemed a snail's pace when she so desperately wanted to fly. Her only
comfort was that Duncan had clearly gone to amend the orders. She began to pray
Ronan and Niall and her other O'Byrne clansmen would recognize their danger and
retreat, that a violent downpour would send the crossbowmen running for cover,
anything to avert disaster as she reached a landing and half stumbled through
the door.

She was astonished to see a short passageway and
another stairway leading downward, her desperation mounting because she knew
the battlements lay upward. Yet there was no other route; surely Duncan had
gone this way. She must have descended twenty steps when she came to another
landing, Maire as breathless from exertion as confused by the long lamplit
passageway that greeted her.

She could hear nothing, no commotion to guide her, yet
she plunged ahead, tempted to call out for Duncan, to anyone to help her. The
route to his quarters had seemed more straightforward, but she'd had the
grim-faced guards then to lead the way.

She could do nothing but continue on, sensing with
wretched certainty that she was lost even as she tested the nearest door,
cracking it slightly. Relief swamped her when she heard someone speaking—

"I vow it, Gerard, my brothers would not fault
you! That Duncan delays even now should tell you he no more intends to rid himself
of that Irish whore than he'll help you capture Black O'Byrne. He's betrayed
you! He's dishonored his family. I say he should die!"

Chapter 32

Maire didn't move, couldn't move, her hand frozen to
the latch as Adele's voice grew more venomous, more heated.

"Can you stomach the thought of Black O'Byrne's
sister for Duncan's wife? The sister of the man who slaughtered your brother?
It will happen unless something is done—you could go to his quarters now! You
said you believed them together. And you must use your knife, Gerard, Duncan
bears one as well. It will look as if she committed the deed, then you'll truly
have her to do with as you like!"

Horrified, Maire backed away from the door, the sound
of heavy footsteps moving toward her filling her with panic. Wildly she looked
back the way she'd come—Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, would Gerard take that route?
She must choose!

Maire lunged in the opposite direction, her heart
thundering as she kept one hand braced against the wall so she wouldn't fall.
She heard the door creaking open behind her, and pushed herself all the harder
to reach the end of the passageway—Jesu help her!

She nearly fell in her haste to duck around the corner.
Adele's low voice carried to her as Maire stood with her back pressed to the
wall and fought to catch her breath.

"I'll wait for you here, my love. Think of it!
Black O'Byrne will be slain this very night—Robert's death finally avenged. You
must not fail!"

Sickened, Maire didn't wait to hear Gerard's vehement
reply but hastened as quietly and quickly as she could through an archway and
down a short dark passage. Her hands shook so badly when she reached an
opposite door that she could barely lift the latch. Yet she had only to think
Gerard might be close behind her and she made her fingers obey, her fear
tempering her astonishment when she entered a vast room ablaze with torchlight
that was clearly the great hall.

Servants were rushing to arrange long trestle tables
and benches for the evening meal, and Maire called out to a kindly-looking
Irishwoman near her; she wasn't surprised her voice was all but hoarse.

"Please . . . I must find Lord FitzWilliam. He's
gone to the tower battlements—you must take me there!"

At the woman's nod, Maire had never known such
overwhelming relief as she followed her from the great hall, ignoring curious
glances thrown their way. Yet her heart sank moments later when she was faced
with more spiral steps, and she feared then she would never make it to the
battlements in time. Even now Duncan might be returning to where he'd left her
while Gerard was headed there too—

"Miss, would you have me go after him? The climb
might be too much for you—if you don't mind me saying so."

"Aye, please! Tell him I'm waiting here—oh,
please, you must hurry!"

The Irishwoman didn't linger, Maire feeling an aching
heaviness in her legs even as she wished desperately it was
her
climbing the tower. Only when the
servingwoman had disappeared did it strike her that Duncan might not believe
what she'd heard from Adele, and she sank in anguish onto a step.

***

"God's teeth, she's where?"

"Outside the great hall, lord, aye, and pale as
can be. I came to find you as quickly as I could."

The servingwoman having shouted to be heard above the
rumbling thunder, Duncan didn't wait for her to say more. With a last glance at
the darkening countryside, a burst of lightning illuminating the distant line
of ancient oak and birch where he sensed in his gut that the O'Byrnes had taken
refuge, he brushed past Edward de Valognes, who squinted against the stinging
drizzle.

"If the rebels venture closer, Baron—"

"Do nothing, not unless I tell you!"

That the strapping knight looked at him with as much
puzzlement as when Duncan had roared for the crossbowmen to stand away from the
battlements only made him curse under his breath; he had no time or inclination
to explain things further. He ducked into the tower and charged down the steps,
his mind racing that Maire hadn't waited for him where he'd left her.

He could only guess that she must have attempted to
follow him, and his gut tightened that she held such concern for her brothers.
By the blood of God, he would settle for half as much for himself, a quarter!

Yet he'd heard no protests when he'd said he would release
her, no apologies, no explanations, the realization striking him like an
ice-cold blade at how eager she must be to leave Ennell Castle. To leave him.
Was there any greater fool that he still hoped some small word from her might
alter the lies and deceit that had gone before?

That he'd asked her of the roses, of her embroidery,
proved he was only deceiving himself as well. He'd longed for nothing more than
to ask her a thousand questions, to sit down with her and talk and learn all
there was to know of Maire O'Byrne and never let her go—God help him, why could
he not stop tormenting himself?

His gut clenched all the harder when he spied her
sitting upon the step with her back to him, her head resting almost forlornly
against the wall. Yet she must have heard him coming; she twisted around, her
face as ashen as the servingwoman had claimed, her lovely eyes stricken just to
see him. Wondering if she feared he had changed his mind about releasing her,
he took almost perverse comfort that he could arouse some emotion within her
though not the one he so hungered for.