“What do ye want then?” he asked her.
“I want to be yer wife, and have lots of babies, and run my estates, Conn.
That
is my life, and
that
is what I want. It makes me happier than anything else in this entire world. I want to go home, Conn, and be free from fear of ever being taken away from ye or from
Pearroc Royal
again! Whatever we have to do to face down that old man who is my grandsire, let us do, and then let us go home to England!”
“By God, Aidan St. Michael!” he said feelingly to her, “I bless the day that Elizabeth Tudor ever decided that ye were the woman for me, for ye surely are! Yer a woman who knows her own mind, and I love ye for it.”
“I’m glad,” she said deciding that now was the time for total honesty. “I’m glad that ye like a woman who knows her own mind, my husband, because the truth of the matter is that the queen couldn’t think of who to marry ye to until I suggested that she marry ye to me!”
Conn’s jaw dropped, and then he began to laugh. “Aidan,” he said, “there is no one like ye in this entire world. Yer an original, and yer mine!” Then he gave her a quick kiss.
Before she could say another word there was a knock upon the door which sobered them both, and a servant entered to tell them that Lord Glin was awaiting them in the Great Hall with Rogan FitzGerald and his son Eamon. Without a word Conn and Aidan joined hands, and walked from their haven. Together they were invincible, and they felt it.
The sight of them, hand in hand, as they entered the Great Hall of Glinshannon Castle enraged Rogan FitzGerald so badly that for a moment he could not speak. His stern face darkened with his outrage as the blood rushed to his head, and he opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish gasping for water before he was finally able to say a word, but then he shouted at her, “
Murderess!
Ye killed my nephew in cold blood, ye damned English bitch! I regret yer any kin of mine!”
“No more than I regret it, ye old devil,” Aidan shouted back. “Yer damned bastard nephew would be alive today if ye’d not forced me into a bigamous marriage! Did ye really think I’d allow ye to do that to me? Did ye really think I’d allow ye to kill my Conn? If ye did then ye’ve little opinion of my English antecedents, and less of yer own!”
He was stunned into temporary silence by her equal anger, but Eamon FitzGerald, cold and calculating, and now considering Aidan’s wealth for himself said, “Lord Glin, as the queen’s magistrate for this region, I demand the queen’s justice. This woman, my niece, has coldly, and deliberately murdered her lawful husband in order to be with
that
man, Conn O’Malley. They are both responsible for the death of my cousin Cavan FitzGerald and should be punished to the full extent of the law.”
Henry Sturminster, Lord Glin, considered the situation for a long moment, and then he said, “We have a problem that I cannot solve, my lords, and my lady. The question is to whom was Aidan St. Michael really wed? If she was indeed truly wed to Conn O’Malley, then ye gentlemen of Ballycoille committed a crime by forcing her into a bigamous match; and her act against Cavan FitzGerald was but a defense of her honor. On the other hand if her marriage to Master O’Malley was indeed invalid, then her wedding to Cavan FitzGerald was a legal one, and she is guilty of killing the man. There are other legalties to be considered, too. Aidan St. Michael is English, and as such she is subject to England’s laws, and England’s church, and most of all to the queen’s will for she is the queen’s own loyal subject; but gentlemen, before any of the legalities can be even considered I must straighten out the ecclesiasticalities of the matter, don’t ye agree?”
Rogan FitzGerald was now fully recovered, and ready to do battle. “What the hell does all that mean?” he demanded. “What the hell does all that mean?” he demanded.
“It means,” said Conn with a grin on his face, “that he needs a church decision on whom Aidan was married to before he can decide anything else.”
“Aidan was married to Cavan FitzGerald in Holy Mother Church! It is the only true faith, and therefore no other marriage can be lawful and valid,” the old man snapped.
“As the queen’s loyal subject I cannot agree with ye, Rogan FitzGerald,” said Lord Glin. “Our late sovereign, Henry VIII, parted us not from the Catholic faith, but rather from Rome’s rule. The English will not suffer a foreign prince to hold sway over them.”
“ ’Tis a pity the English aren’t as scrupulous of Irish feelings as they are of their own,” said the old man.
Conn O’Malley chuckled. “There, Rogan FitzGerald, I agree with ye.”
“If ye agree with me then why do ye live in England, son of the great Dubhdara O’Malley, may God assoil his soul?”
“Because unlike ye, Rogan FitzGerald, I am a realist. Yer a dreamer. The Irish will never be free until they can come together as one people as it once was in the ancient times. A time when a man was judged for himself be he a believer in the old gods, a Christian, or a Jew. A time when women were respected and considered equal in their rights. A time we lived, and fought, and died as
One People
! Those times are gone, old man, and we have become a splintered race where each man claims his descent from the old kings, and no man trusts another. That weakness allowed the English to overcome us. I do not see the changing in my time, Rogan FitzGerald, and so I prefer to live in England with my English wife raising my children in safety. It is but a father’s wish that his bairns be safe, and I am no less Irish for it, old man!”
A servant had entered the Great Hall while they were speaking, and now Lord Glin said, “This will not solve the problem that faces us, gentlemen, but I believe we are about to gain the beginnings of our solution.” He turned to the servant, and spoke something to him. Then as the man hurried out Lord Glin said, “The Bishop of Mid-Connaught has just arrived, and I believe that he will be able to untangle the churchly matter of this thorny situation.”
“The Bishop of Mid-Connaught is an O’Malley!” protested Eamon FitzGerald.
“An O’Malley?” Aidan looked to Conn.
“My eldest brother,” he whispered back to her, “actually my half-brother. He was the last child of my father’s first wife, and the only live son she produced. Skye was the youngest of her daughters.”
“I object!” shouted Rogan FitzGerald. “How can we get a fair hearing from an O’Malley?”
A tall handsome man strode into the room, his purple robes swinging vigorously about his long legs, and Aidan thought seeing him for the first time that she would have known him anywhere. There was no doubt that he was an O’Malley. “Are ye saying that I can’t do my duty by the church, Rogan FitzGerald?” the bishop demanded in a stern voice.
“Yet from Connaught! This is Munster! I’ll only be judged by the Bishop of Munster!” Rogan FitzGerald said.
“Then ye’ll be waiting a long time, sir, for the Bishop of Munster died two days ago, and ’twill be one hell of a long time before the word reaches Rome, and the Holy Father gets around to appointing us another bishop for Munster. Ireland is not particularly important in the church’s scheme of things, Rogan FitzGerald, so ye’ll be judged by me, and if ye don’t like my judgment then yer free to appeal to Rome.” He looked at Conn. “Yer looking prosperous, little brother.”
“Michael, this is my wife, Aidan.”
“That remains to be seen!” yelled Rogan FitzGerald.
“Sit down, and shut up!” roared Michael O’Malley.
“My lord bishop, will ye have some wine?” asked Lord Glin.
Michael O’Malley grinned engagingly, and answered, “ ’Tis the first civilized thing’s been said to me since I entered Glinshannon. Aye, my lord, I will have some wine, and thank ye.”
Lord Glin settled the bishop at the high board, and together they spoke in low tones while servants bustled about them offering wine and cakes to the cleric.
“He looks like ye, and yet he doesn’t,” said Aidan.
“He looks more like my father every day. I barely remember Da, but there’s a large portrait of him at Innisfana. Skye and I look more a mixture of Da and our mothers. He’s a good man, and he’ll render us a fair judgment.”
“But what if he finds for the FitzGeralds? Then I’m guilty of murder.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he soothed her. “Yer no murderess. Ye were but protecting yer honor from that bastard. We’re married, Aidan!”
When Michael O’Malley had finished refreshing himself he gave orders that the hearing should begin, and he began by clearing the Great Hall of Glinshannon of everyone but those directly involved. He wanted no altercations breaking out between the O’Malley retainers who had traveled with him from Innisfana, and the rather motley crew who had accompanied the FitzGeralds from Ballycoille.
When no one but the complainants and the defendants and Lord Glin remained Michael O’Malley said, “All right, Rogan FitzGerald, let us hear yer side of this matter first.”
“Aidan St. Michael is the only surviving child of my dear departed daughter Bevin. She has no family but me, and as the eldest male member of her family it is my duty to see that she is properly wed. I chose my nephew, Cavan FitzGerald, to be her mate, and they were wed yesterday by my own son Father Barra FitzGerald. They were wed in the faith of our family, a faith in which my granddaughter was born and baptized. Last night after we had put the newlyweds to bed that coldhearted bitch murdered her husband! Then she came running back to
that
man, her lover! I demand justice, my lord bishop!”
Michael O’Malley looked down at Aidan. “Is what he says true, Aidan St. Michael?”
“No!”
“Liar!”
“Be silent!” the bishop commanded. “Ye deny ye were wed yesterday to Cavan FitzGerald?”
“I deny that he was my husband, my lord bishop,” said Aidan. “That I was coerced into making a mockery of the sacrament by being forced into a bigamous union, that I will not deny.”
“Ye say ye were forced? How were ye forced?”
“Our infant daughter, mine and Conn’s, was stolen from our home in England in order that I might come willingly to my grandsire’s home. That wicked old man put his dagger to my child’s helpless body! He drew blood, causing my baby to cry out with pain! That is how he forced me, my lord bishop! He said he would not kill Valentina, but rather he would see that she suffered constant pain unless I agreed to his terrible scheme. Until I could make good our escape from Ballycoille I had no choice but to go along with the FitzGeralds.”
“These are serious charges, Rogan FitzGerald,” said the bishop.
“There was no mockery of the sacrament,” Rogan protested. “Her alleged marriage in England was not a valid one as it was not performed by a legitimate priest of the church! How then could there be a bigamy committed ?” He looked triumphantly at Michael O’Malley for he knew that no matter how the bishop might feel personally, he must render his judgment based on religious convictions only.
“Ye old devil,” Aidan shouted at him, furious, “I accept no law be it civil or religious unless it be English law!”
“Tell me of yer marriage to Conn,” Michael said in a soothing tone. “When was it performed, and by whom?”
“We were married in the queen’s own chapel at Greenwich Palace, on the fourteenth of February in the year of our lord fifteen hundred and seventy-eight. The ceremony was performed by one of the queen’s own chaplains, in her presence, and that of our nephew the Earl of Southwood, my tiring woman, Mag, and Conn’s man, Cluny.”
“It is a consecrated chapel,” said Michael O’Malley.
“But an unconsecrated priest!” protested Rogan FitzGerald.
“Do ye remember which of the queen’s chaplains married ye?”
Here was the sticking point, thought the bishop. There were some who still served Elizabeth Tudor who had not yet been excommunicated for accepting the queen’s rule over the church in England as opposed to the papal rule of England’s church. The old faith was still the majority faith although the English now separated their faith from their patriotic loyalties.
“We were wed by Father Bede,” said Aidan quietly.
“The marriage is legal and lawful in the eyes of the church,” said O’Malley.
“What?”
Rogan FitzGerald and his son Eamon were both totally outraged as they saw Aidan’s wealth slipping from their grasp. They were not, however, going to give up without a fight. “I knew that we couldn’t trust an O’Malley to render a fair judgment where another O’Malley was concerned ! I protest yer decision, my lord bishop! I shall take my case to Rome itself if I have to in order to obtain true justice!”
“Listen to me, Rogan FitzGerald,” said the bishop patiently. “Father Matthew Bede is still considered by Rome a priest of our faith. There are several who yet serve the queen with Rome’s silent blessing for they seek reconciliation, and a return of England to the papal fold. Ye have no case. Indeed if Lady Bliss wished to file charges against ye for forcing her into a bigamous union she could do so. Yer an old man, Rogan FitzGerald, and ye’ll soon be facing yer maker. Ye’ve much on yer soul, man, but as a good son of the church, ye have the chance to be shriven when yer hour comes. If ye were excommunicated, and cut off from Holy Mother Church, ye would have no chance, and yer soul would be flung into the fiery pit to burn forever. Yer at a serious crossroads, Rogan FitzGerald, and the choice is yers. Which path will ye take?”
He seemed to shrivel before their very eyes, and for the briefest moment Michael O’Malley felt pity for the old man, but then he remembered all the misery Rogan FitzGerald and his nephew, Cavan, had caused his youngest brother, and Aidan, and the bishop’s heart hardened. Eamon FitzGerald, more practical than his father, saw that they had lost, and shrugged. The wealth had been his father’s dream, and Cavan’s dream. Only for a short time had he considered what he might have done with his niece’s gold to restore and improve Ballycoille. He had been a fool to even consider such a possibility. Dreams were for children, and those imbeciles stupid enough to believe in them.