A Love for All Time (82 page)

“I understand how ye feel, Aidan,” Skye told her, “but Adam is right. Wait for Conn.”

“In all likelihood he’ll be there ahead of me,” Aidan said. “Will ye send one of yer pigeons to Cardiff to inform yer factor of our needs, and our arrival?”

“Aye,” said Skye, “I will.”

“Then I’m off,” replied Aidan, and standing she blew them both a kiss, and strode purposefully from the room.

“Do ye think she’ll wait?” Adam queried his wife.

“Aye. She’s afraid of Cavan FitzGerald. She’ll not want to face him alone,” came the reply.

But Aidan wasn’t afraid of her cousin any longer. A deep burning anger had replaced her equally deep fear, and with every mile she traveled that anger grew stronger, her fear weaker. She was no longer the sheltered creature she had been two years ago when Cavan had so cruelly sold her into slavery. She had seen more of the world now than even he had. She had learned by virtue of her sex that an inner strength was necessary for human survival. She now had that strength, and she felt confident, and unbeatable. With or without Conn she was going to Ireland to retrieve their daughter, and she would do it!

She was tired of Cavan FitzGerald, and the threat that he posed to her life. She had lived in fear of him since her return. That fear was, she suspected now, at the root of her inability to enjoy her marital relations with her beloved husband. What more could he do to her than he had already done ? He had sold her into slavery, stolen her child, and made it impossible for her to enjoy her husband’s loving! Enough was enough!

Aidan pushed both herself and her men to the limit. She knew now that in order to destroy the hold that Cavan FitzGerald had over her she had to beard him herself. She must face him alone, and in order for her to do that she had to reach Cardiff, and embark for Ireland before Conn got there. It was then that she understood something that Skye had recently said to her. She had openly admired her beautiful sister-in-law’s obvious control over her own life, and Skye had said:

“Until I became my own person instead of merely the extension of some man, I had no control over myself, or my life.”

“But how did ye gain that control?” Aidan asked her.

“By facing up to my fears honestly,” said Skye.

She hadn’t really understood Skye at the time, but now she did, and she was facing up to the one great fear she had. That Cavan FitzGerald would once again get her in his power. Well her odious cousin might believe by stealing Valentina that that was exactly what he was doing, and perhaps with the old Aidan it might have been so, but not now. This time she was going to face up to him, and she was going to fight him with every ounce of her strength, and she was going to win. Oh, yes! She was most certainly going to win!

A
idan St. Michael’s first glimpse of her mother’s homeland was a gray and misty one.

“A soft day,” said Captain Bran Kelly of the light rain that was falling. He said it with a smile.

They had sailed from Cardiff out into the Bristol Channel and past Lundy Island, once the stronghold of the de Marisco family. The weather had held as they crossed the short sea distance between the two countries rounding the southern end of Ireland to sail effortlessly across first Bantry Bay and then Dingle Bay. There had been little sunshine. The days had been gray, the nights foggy, but the seas had been smooth and there had been just enough wind to move them at a goodly pace. Sailing into the mouth of the Shannon Aidan admired the velvety green of the land. It was very beautiful.

“The wind is freshening now,” said Bran Kelly as he saw them and the horses that they had carried with them safely embarked upon a deserted beach. “I’ll have a quick trip to Innisfana, m’lady, and I’ll be back with a good strong contingent of O’Malley retainers to back ye up, never fear.”

“Conn will appreciate the reinforcements when he arrives,” said Aidan. “From what I can gather my grandfather is land rich, but lacking in the hard coin it takes to keep trained men-at-arms. I don’t know what the FitzGeralds want with me, but I don’t believe that they mean me any harm.”

“I think yer probably right,” agreed the ship’s captain. “Yer grandfather’s family have a reputation for knavery, but not murder.” He flushed realizing how rude his blunt speech must have sounded to Aidan who was such a gentle soul. “Yer pardon, m’lady.”

Aidan laughed. “ ’Tis no insult, Bran Kelly, to tell me what my own mother told me. And Mag, too, I might add. My mother was happy to escape her family, and marry my father. If she continued to correspond with them it was out of a sense of filial duty. I owe the FitzGeralds no such duty. I’ve come to get my daughter back, that’s all.”

“Be careful,” he warned her. “ ’Tis said that St. Patrick drove the snakes from Ireland, but there are still a few at Ballycoille, m’lady.”

“I’ve Cluny, and Harry Beal, and two of the lads to come with me, and protect me. We can hold that old devil who calls himself my loving grandfather at bay for a few days until Conn arrives. Ye fret too much, Bran Kelly. I’ll take no chances, I promise ye.”

Watching her ride off he was of a mind to worry despite her reassurances. She had always, according to Lady de Marisco, been so sheltered; yet she had seemed levelheaded and competent to him. He shook his head. He believed her when she said she could hold her own for a few days. Still the FitzGeralds of Ballycoille were a rough lot.

For Aidan, however, there was no doubt in her mind that she would accomplish her purpose in coming to Ireland. She pushed her mount, and her men hard to cover the distance between the Shannon River, and her grandfather’s holding as quickly as possible. She was anxious to see her baby again. She hoped that Valentina was all right, but she quieted any fears she had on that account by reassuring herself that it was she the FitzGeralds wanted. Her child had only been a means to their end, and they would not harm her.

She was not surprised at the shabbiness of her grandfather’s tower house when she first saw it. Her mother had spoken often of the great contrast between her childhood home in Ireland where she had run barefoot most of her life, and her beautiful and quickly beloved home,
Pearroc Royal
in England. The tower was an ancient one, and even at a distance it was quite obviously in need of repairs. Built of a harsh-looking dark gray stone it sat upon a hill which gave it an uncluttered view of the entire unforested countryside surrounding it. It would be a difficult place to approach undetected, or to escape from without being easily seen. It gave Aidan some pause for thought, but there was no going back now.

There were several outbuildings about the tower, and the entire group of structures was surrounded by a low stone wall. The heavy oak gates to the enclosure opened now, and a rider came forth, his dark cape fluttering wildly in the wind. She instantly recognized him, and her heart hardened even as her mouth curved up into a brief smile of amusement as Cavan FitzGerald halloed across the distance separating them, and waved as if she’d been invited to a family celebration.

“Little Aidan,” he said as he pulled even with her. “Yer as lovely as ever, cousin!” He smiled broadly at her.

“As lovely as when ye last laid eyes upon me, ye black-hearted bastard ?” she demanded in a level voice, her gray eyes as flat as lead.

“Now, sweet cousin, let us let bygones be bygones,” he began, but she cut him short.

“Let bygones be bygones?
Jesu, yer not only mad, Cavan, yer stupid as well.” Then in a move he had not at all anticipated she kicked her horse to shove past him setting him so badly off balance that he almost fell from his mount.

He was barely saved from that embarrassment by two of the men who accompanied her who slipped up on either side of him, preventing the accident as one of them reached out to lift him back into his saddle, and the other steadied his horse. As he attempted to move forward to catch up with her, however, one of them, a beefy, bearded ruffian, leaned over and relieved him of his reins thus preventing him from guiding his own horse.

The other whom he immediately recognized as Lord Bliss’ personal servant smiled and said, “There now, Master FitzGerald, ye best mind yer manners, and let yer betters precede ye.”

Cavan seethed with impotent rage. The little bastard would pay for that remark as soon as he took care of his master! Aidan, his better?
A woman
his better? She’d soon know who her better was. He’d quickly tame the English bitch, and have her running at his heels like a well-trained beast. He licked his lips in anticipation of the easy victory.

A small smile on her lips at her first little triumph over her cousin, Aidan rode boldly into her grandfather’s keep. She was pleased to see through the open doors of the large stable building that it was well kept for the rest of the outbuildings were rather dilapidated. There were pigs rooting about in the courtyard in the garbage pile, and a number of barefoot, dirty-looking children in shapeless smocks tumbling with each other, and the large number of dogs who seemed to be vying avidly with the pigs for the bones and scraps of the garbage pile. A lump came to her throat. Had her mother once been as these children? Could her beautiful mother have sprung from the filth of this appalling pig wallow?

She slid from her mount giving orders as she did so. “Mark, ye and Jim stay with the horses. See they’re properly stabled, cooled down, and then fed and watered. Check their hooves for any stones. ’Twas such a rocky trail up here. Cluny, ye and Harry Beal come with me.” She turned and glared at Cavan who was just managing to get off his horse. “Well,
cousin,
will ye lead the way, or shall I find it myself?”

Somewhat off balance by her tone, and her manner, Cavan obeyed her sharp command, and hurried into the tower house. With a wink at her men Aidan followed him up the stairs, and into the hall where seated at the high board at the opposite end of the hall from its door was a tall, white-haired old man with bright blue eyes and harsh features. Aidan strode boldly the length of the room, and stopping directly in front of the old man said, her voice cold, and quite angry to his ear.

“Ye’ll be Rogan FitzGerald, my grandsire. Where is my infant daughter, and how dare ye allow this bastard,” her hand made a sweeping gesture in Cavan’s direction, “to endanger Valentina in whatever madcap scheme he has up his sleeve now!”

There was a long silence as Rogan FitzGerald contemplated this virago who had just arrived into their midst. Then peering down his nose at her he said with some humor, “And welcome to Ballycoille, granddaughter of mine.” Then his eyes narrowed, and he said in a sharper, more menacing tone, “I like neither yer tone nor yer stance, granddaughter. Remember that I am master here at Ballycoille. Ye’ll respect me, lass, for yer no different in my sight than any other woman, and I’ll give ye a beating such as ye’ve never had if ye can’t remember yer manners when speaking with me.”

“Where is my child?” Aidan repeated. Her heart hammered wildly within her chest as she realized she was actually bearding her grandfather and his entire household with only two men at her side. Should she have waited in Cardiff for Conn? Still she would not let the old man know she was fearful, and so she glared at him boldly.

Rogan FitzGerald looked to one of his servants, a rather slatternly-looking woman, and snapped, “Fetch the brat and her wet nurse!”

There was an even larger silence as they waited, Aidan standing firmly before him, her legs apart, her rather outlandish garb rather attractive to his eye, and certainly practical for riding astride, he thought. She was, however, no simple and sweet-natured woman who would be easily led as Cavan had suggested. Still, she was his granddaughter, and she would eventually see reason, he was certain. There was no warmth in her eyes right now, however, and the two men who accompanied her both looked as if they meant business. Family retainers obviously. Loyal and tough. He nodded to himself absently. His nephew would have no easy time of it, but together they could make her obey them he was certain. She’d not be an easy mare to force to the bit, but he was sure they would prevail. Finally the wet nurse, and the child entered the hall, and Aidan showed the first touch of softness Rogan could see in her, and he smiled to himself. The bairn was her weakness as it would be with any loving mother. Seeing the girl carefully coming down the staircase into the hall Aidan ran to the foot, and held out her arms for the child. Valentina was, she could easily see, clean, well-fed, and content. As the wet nurse placed the baby in her mother’s arms Aidan said to the girl, “What is yer name?”

“I’m Nan, the smith’s daughter, m’lady. Lord Cavan hired me in Cardiff to care for the little miss. I’ve done me best.”

“I can see ye have,” said Aidan kindly. The girl was almost too thin but for her breasts, she had several ugly bruises on her arms, and she looked absolutely terrified, her light blue eyes darting about her as if she were waiting to dodge the next blow. “I’ll want ye to return to
Pearroc Royal
with me, Nan. When Valentina was
stolen
from her father and me by my great-uncle’s
bastard,
who ye should know is but plain
Master
Cavan and no lord, I had to bind my own breasts, and now my milk is gone. Will ye come with me back to England? Ye’ll be well treated, I promise ye.”