wanted to hang her
brother. He knew of the notorious rebel chieftain Black O'Byrne. Had Ronan and
her clansmen raided upon his land, then? Stolen his cattle? Burned his fields?
It must be so, given the harshness she'd heard in
Duncan's voice. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, if he should discover that she was
Ronan O'Byrne's own sister . . .
Her stomach growling noisily jarred Maire from her
stricken thoughts, the hollow ache more painful than the tender bump on her
head. Feeling almost a traitor for wanting to partake of food provided to her
by a Norman, she nonetheless drew the tray toward her, deciding it was better
she eat.
If she was to escape from this unholy place, she would
need her strength and wits about her. She had no idea if Longford Castle lay in
Leinster or farther north in Ulster, yet it must be Leinster, surely. According
to what she'd heard last night, it had taken less than a day's ride from the
Wicklow meadow where her clansmen had been slaughtered for Duncan's sister
Adele and her entourage to have arrived here the same evening. God help her,
just thinking of that woman's laughter . . .
Sickened by horrible memories, Maire had to force
herself to bite into a slab of white wheaten bread topped with a thin slice of
roasted mutton; it was all she could do to swallow as she made herself think
only of the dilemma at hand. Yet tasting food for the first time since leaving
the MacMurrough stronghold in Ferns, well-prepared food at that, her hunger
soon overcame her, and she made short work of the bread and a delicious apple
tart studded with sugared almonds and raisins, which she washed down with a cup
of watered wine.
She hadn't savored a like confection since Ronan's
hapless cook, Seamus, who had long toiled as a slave in Norman kitchens before
being rescued during a raid, died so suddenly two years ago, God rest him. Poor
Triona! The cook's demise hadn't been her fault, but Ronan had blamed her
nonetheless . . .
Maire dropped the last morsel of tart forgotten upon
the tray, her anxiety mounting as she thought again of her family. And Niall,
dear God, what of him? Adele had told Duncan of attacking eight Irishmen, so
Niall had surely made it safely home to Glenmalure. Yet he still knew nothing
of Caitlin. What if he should ride to Ferns thinking to see his MacMurrough
bride-to-be only to discover she had married another?
Beset with panic, Maire shoved away the tray so
suddenly that it tumbled from the bed and clattered to the floor, the last of
the wine splattering the blankets. But she gave no heed, her only thought that
she must find a way out of Longford Castle for Niall's sake, for Ronan's, and
as soon as she could. Yet she'd scarcely flung aside the covers when an
outraged screech rent the air, Maire's startled gaze flying to the door.
"Aye, you black-haired witch, out of Lord
FitzWilliam's bed! Out or I'll—"
The comely young Irishwoman with flushed cheeks and
blazing green eyes didn't finish but ran to the bed, her dark brown mane flying
behind her. Maire could but gasp and scoot to the other side of the mattress
even as Flanna screamed and flung a pillow to the floor; Maire had no doubt her
attacker was the woman Duncan had mistaken her for.
"Out of that bed, didn't you hear me? That's my
place, mine and Duncan's—"
"And you can have it, truly!" Clutching to
her breasts the blanket that she had slept wrapped in all night, Maire half
fell from the bed and spun around awkwardly to face Flanna. "I want
nothing to do with your lord—had nothing to do with him. It was his sister
Adele who brought me here—"
"Half sister, aye, and a witch, too!"
Grabbing another pillow, Flanna threw it to the floor and stomped upon it,
goose feathers swirling around the hem of her bright yellow gown as tears
jumped to her eyes. "Forced me to sleep in the servingwomen's quarters,
she did, when I should have been here. Instead you a-and Duncan—"
"No, no, Lord FitzWilliam slept in the other room,
I swear it, and he
brother. He knew of the notorious rebel chieftain Black O'Byrne. Had Ronan and
her clansmen raided upon his land, then? Stolen his cattle? Burned his fields?
It must be so, given the harshness she'd heard in
Duncan's voice. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, if he should discover that she was
Ronan O'Byrne's own sister . . .
Her stomach growling noisily jarred Maire from her
stricken thoughts, the hollow ache more painful than the tender bump on her
head. Feeling almost a traitor for wanting to partake of food provided to her
by a Norman, she nonetheless drew the tray toward her, deciding it was better
she eat.
If she was to escape from this unholy place, she would
need her strength and wits about her. She had no idea if Longford Castle lay in
Leinster or farther north in Ulster, yet it must be Leinster, surely. According
to what she'd heard last night, it had taken less than a day's ride from the
Wicklow meadow where her clansmen had been slaughtered for Duncan's sister
Adele and her entourage to have arrived here the same evening. God help her,
just thinking of that woman's laughter . . .
Sickened by horrible memories, Maire had to force
herself to bite into a slab of white wheaten bread topped with a thin slice of
roasted mutton; it was all she could do to swallow as she made herself think
only of the dilemma at hand. Yet tasting food for the first time since leaving
the MacMurrough stronghold in Ferns, well-prepared food at that, her hunger
soon overcame her, and she made short work of the bread and a delicious apple
tart studded with sugared almonds and raisins, which she washed down with a cup
of watered wine.
She hadn't savored a like confection since Ronan's
hapless cook, Seamus, who had long toiled as a slave in Norman kitchens before
being rescued during a raid, died so suddenly two years ago, God rest him. Poor
Triona! The cook's demise hadn't been her fault, but Ronan had blamed her
nonetheless . . .
Maire dropped the last morsel of tart forgotten upon
the tray, her anxiety mounting as she thought again of her family. And Niall,
dear God, what of him? Adele had told Duncan of attacking eight Irishmen, so
Niall had surely made it safely home to Glenmalure. Yet he still knew nothing
of Caitlin. What if he should ride to Ferns thinking to see his MacMurrough
bride-to-be only to discover she had married another?
Beset with panic, Maire shoved away the tray so
suddenly that it tumbled from the bed and clattered to the floor, the last of
the wine splattering the blankets. But she gave no heed, her only thought that
she must find a way out of Longford Castle for Niall's sake, for Ronan's, and
as soon as she could. Yet she'd scarcely flung aside the covers when an
outraged screech rent the air, Maire's startled gaze flying to the door.
"Aye, you black-haired witch, out of Lord
FitzWilliam's bed! Out or I'll—"
The comely young Irishwoman with flushed cheeks and
blazing green eyes didn't finish but ran to the bed, her dark brown mane flying
behind her. Maire could but gasp and scoot to the other side of the mattress
even as Flanna screamed and flung a pillow to the floor; Maire had no doubt her
attacker was the woman Duncan had mistaken her for.
"Out of that bed, didn't you hear me? That's my
place, mine and Duncan's—"
"And you can have it, truly!" Clutching to
her breasts the blanket that she had slept wrapped in all night, Maire half
fell from the bed and spun around awkwardly to face Flanna. "I want
nothing to do with your lord—had nothing to do with him. It was his sister
Adele who brought me here—"
"Half sister, aye, and a witch, too!"
Grabbing another pillow, Flanna threw it to the floor and stomped upon it,
goose feathers swirling around the hem of her bright yellow gown as tears
jumped to her eyes. "Forced me to sleep in the servingwomen's quarters,
she did, when I should have been here. Instead you a-and Duncan—"
"No, no, Lord FitzWilliam slept in the other room,
I swear it, and he
Similar Books
