“You are a Catholic. That alone prohibits you from entrance into Ireland.”
Killian’s black brows arched in surprise. “Where does it say that I am Catholic?”
The lieutenant was not amused. “Do you tell me that you have renounced your faith?”
Killian seemed to appear embarrassed. “Must you word it that way? I would rather believe that the calling was never fully mine. A man of your experience must understand how the temptations of the flesh often hold sway over the pious psalms which would deny man his small vices.”
“You are aware that we have strict laws governing the conduct of Irish papists? As a Catholic you are forbidden to enter a profession, hold public office, engage in trade or commerce of any kind. You may not purchase land or lease land, nor may you accept a mortgage on land in security for a loan, nor may you receive or inherit land.”
“Your laws are quite strict, as you say. What, however, have they to do with me?”
The lieutenant’s eyes flickered. “You are educated, that much is clear. An Irishman who sends his son abroad to be educated forfeits all his property—as does his son.”
“I am educated, that is true. But my circumstances are not of the kind you describe. My mother went abroad after
the death of my father—of cholera—in hopes of taking the veil. It was discovered there that she was with child. After I was born, she did become a nun and remained so until her death a few years later, when I was sent to be raised by monks. So you see, my father did not send me abroad, nor is it my intention to lay claim to whatever small holding he may once have held.”
“So you say. How do you propose to subsist here?”
“I have come to claim a small property inherited by my wife, which, as her legal husband, now belongs to me.”
“Papists may not inherit property.”
“That again,” Killian murmured, allowing his annoyance to show through. “Kindly show me whatever document you wish me to sign that I am not a traitorous villain bent upon spreading the papist cause throughout the land and I will sign it here and now.”
The lieutenant made a steeple of his fingers and pressed them lightly to his lips. “You are eager to be gone from here, Mister MacShane. I wonder why.”
Killian gave him a knowing smile. “I am wed but three days, monsieur. Were you to see my bride, you would know what spurs me.”
“Is she, your bride, Irish?”
“Yes.”
“Her father was a papist and a traitor loyal to James?”
“So it would seem,” Killian agreed cautiously. “But I own I did not know the man well. He had no liking for me, nor I he.”
“Why?”
Killian shrugged. “Our views of the world and politics were different. Our views of the practicalities of life were also.”
“You quarreled?”
“We did.”
“Over the daughter?”
“What else?” Killian smiled expansively. “What father enjoys losing his daughter to a young vigorous man? We would not be wed now but for Divine intervention. The father died.”
“And you have come to inherit his lands?”
“I have come to claim my bride’s dowry. I will not quibble with you, I am a, ah, how do you say
un chevalier d’ industrie
?”
“A sharper,” the lieutenant offered unhelpfully.
“
Mais non!
I am not a swindler. I live by my wits. In marrying, I hoped to extend my livelihood into that of gentleman and landowner.”
The lieutenant frowned. The man had as good as said that he had married his bride for her dowry alone. Well, it was no business of his. “You may not inherit unless you can prove that you are a man loyal to the English throne and a member in good standing of the established religion.”
“How may I do that?”
The lieutenant looked again at his assistant with a slight smile. “It is not so simple a task as you may imagine. We are serious in the method of accepting converts. Many papists would perjure themselves for a shilling. Any man who applies for admission into the established Church must first undergo a period of instruction. Afterward he must submit himself to an examination. If satisfied with his devotion and piety, he will be given a certificate guaranteeing him to be a fit subject for baptism. Only then is a man entitled to full ownership of the lands which he seeks to attain.”
Horror showed in Killian’s face. “So much? But I shall be old and buried before the inheritance is legally mine.”
The lieutenant’s smile widened. “’Tis up to you. If you should accept instruction, you will be given a temporary permit to reside in Ireland. If not, you must return whence you came.”
“If I accept these, ah, restrictions, I will be allowed to pursue my claims?”
The English officer nodded. He did not like this man but there was no reason to lie to him. Before admitting the man into his company, he had determined that Liscarrol was a small holding in the wilds of the west and of little interest to the Crown. “For the time it takes to assess your true feelings upon the matter of religion, you will be allowed to remain.”
Frowning, Killian stroked his chin. Then a smile lit his face and he nodded. “So be it. What must I do first?”
The lieutenant withdrew a paper from his desk drawer. “Fill this out and then fill out a separate one for your wife.”
Killian took the paper but his smile faltered. “My wife is not concerned with this.”
“Surely she intends to follow in your footsteps?”
Killian raised his eyes and they gleamed with guile. “I am not so ignorant of your laws as you would think me. As my wife, she has no claim to anything she owned before the ceremony. She is young, innocent, sweet, and delightful. She may remain in happy ignorance of my deed which, in the truest sense, benefits her. She may not attend Mass, I have apprised her of that fact. Why should she be bothered with details of state which do not affect her?”
“You fear losing her,” the lieutenant said baldly.
Killian nodded slightly. “Just so.”
“If you become a Protestant, she may seek an annulment.”
Killian shrugged. “What benefit could that be to her when it is I who own the land and your law permits me to retain it?”
The lieutenant looked away. He knew the man for what he was now, a cheat, a swindler, a rogue who had caught an innocent young girl in a fraudulant marriage for the sake of confiscating her property. The man was the lowest sort of creature and becoming a member of the established Church would not better him. The laws sometimes seemed greatly unfair, yet there was nothing he could do about it.
When Killian MacShane had signed the necessary papers and was gone, the lieutenant looked at his assistant. “I hope the land has gone to bog and the house has been razed!”
“Perhaps the smugglers will see to him,” the assistant offered helpfully. “There’s been trouble again in the west with the rebel O’Donovan.”
“Just so,” the lieutenant answered. “May the man make that devil’s acquaintance.”
Outside on the quay, Killian unwrapped his lace jabot and wiped his face.
Instruction in the established religion, how would he explain that to Deirdre? No, he would not explain it. She would not accept his deception as a condition of their remaining in Ireland, while he knew it was their only chance.
To his surprise, he realized that his hands were less than steady. He had won the right to remain in Ireland, but he had also placed his head in a noose which, if he slipped, would tighten and strangle him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a small figure dart between the legs of a red-coated soldier. As he straightened, the child came hurtling toward him. The soldier yelled for the boy to stop and lifted his musket from his shoulder. Sensing the danger in which the boy stood, Killian reached out to grab him by the collar, but the boy twisted free and Killian was left holding a small velvet coat.
The blast of gunfire on the crowded quay sent startled passersby fleeing in every direction with cries of fright. The boy disappeared around a corner with the scattering crowd.
For a moment Killian stood staring after the soldiers who ran past him. He smiled. They would not find the boy, of that he was certain. The child had seemed familiar, and then he realized why: the boy’s antics reminded him of Fey as he had first seen her.
He looked down at the coat he held and his grin broadened. Perhaps in a year, if his plan succeeded, he would send for Fey. She was bright, courageous, and quite pretty, but she needed a heavy hand to keep her in line.
But first, he had other business to attend to.
The duchesse had hired him to pursue and eliminate from her cache of smugglers those who were disloyal to her. Before they had set sail from Nantes, he had made himself known to one of her sea captains by presenting a letter from the duchesse herself. The captain had given him the name of a man to contact when he arrived in Cork. This man would put him in touch with the smugglers who worked the coastline between Ballydehob and Bantry.
Killian smiled grimly. The duchesse’s spies were everywhere, it seemed. He was to be followed. He knew the contents of her letter because he had steamed it open ahead of time. She did not trust him. It was just as well. He did not trust her either.
Killian’s features hardened as he reached the gangway of the ship. He did not like the idea of setting Deirdre among smugglers, but he had accepted the job because it paid extremely well and he had nothing to offer Deirdre without it. When in time he put Liscarrol on its feet, he would loosen his ties to the duchesse. Until then, Deirdre was better kept in ignorance in yet another matter.
“’Tis a smugglers’ master, a swindler, and a groom I’ve become in the space of a week,” he murmured to himself. “What more will the season bring me?”
Chapter Seventeen
Southwest Minister, Ireland
Deirdre shifted in her saddle to ease the pain in her lower back. The leather creaked as she moved, and Killian glanced around, his light eyes as distant and cool as the mist-laden day about them. She straightened her back immediately and kicked her mount to increase its pace but
the weary animal merely continued to plod along, its hooves making sucking noises as it traversed the boggy ground.
“There’s nothing to be gained by hurrying,” Killian announced grimly, using English because they were not alone. “’Twill take hours until we reach Kilronane. We should have spent the night in Enniskean as I suggested.”
Stung by his words, she allowed her weariness and hunger to answer for her. “Aye, and to your way of thinking we’d have done better to stay in Cork until summer. Or better still, we should have stayed in Nantes altogether!”
“Like a bairn, you see the wisdom of my suggestions too late to do us any good,” Killian answered dryly.
Deirdre angrily pulled her hood forward to shut off the
sight of him. How dare he insult her before the company in which they traveled. He had not spoken more than three sentences to her the entire day and now he chose to fuel the animosity between them.
Killian did not speak again but suddenly dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, and his mount lunged forward from a walk into a canter that quickly outdistanced her.
Snickering from one of the two men Killian had hired to protect them on the journey made Deirdre turn her head to glare at the offender.
“The man nodded his shaggy head pleasantly and bared a mouth of rotten teeth as he said to her in Gaelic, “’Tis the
oinseach
sees the
amadan’s
faults!”
“A wise head keeps a shut mouth!” Deirdre retorted in Gaelic and was gratified by the stricken look that overcame the man, who thought her ignorant of his language.
“Begging your pardon, mum,” he mumbled and fell back behind her with his friend.
Deirdre’s mouth tightened as she looked ahead. Killian was a dim figure in the distance, his outline darkened and blurred by the fine but persistent rain that had been falling since dawn. It was his fault that the man had dared to speak to her so. MacShane’s callous treatment made them view her with contempt. Now he had ridden off and left her in their company like one of the sacks of meal in their provisions.
“He is angry, but so too am I!” she muttered.
No, she was not angry. She was cold, wet, and miserable. Why could Killian not understand how eager she was to see Liscarrol after more than twelve years’ absence? For two weeks she had waited impatiently in the small dismal room near the waterfront of Cork while he busied himself with plans which he was very reluctant to share with her. In fact, he was reluctant to share much more with her than an evening meal and their bed.
Deirdre flushed, annoyed with herself for the delicious shiver of desire that ran through her at the mere thought of Killian in bed beside her. Each night he had thoroughly wiped from her mind the petty grievances that she had amassed during his long absences each day. One touch and
she forgot everything but her need of him and their pleasure.
He had used their love as a blind against her inquisitiveness. He had answered her questions with drugging kisses, her inquiries into his daily business with seductive caresses, her pleading to leave for Liscarrol with the tantalizing beguilement of his body’s touch. A fortnight had passed before she became suspicious of his actions. The realization of the truth had made her furious because she had become so willing a pawn.
As Deirdre watched his silhouette disappear behind a line of trees, she wondered how long Killian would have kept up the pretense that he had made plans for their journey had she not decided out of boredom to check on the traveling coach he said he had ordered. She had found that there were coaches readily available, not the waiting list Killian had told her of, and that he had not yet ordered one. They would not now be within a day’s journey of her goal had she not ordered a coach herself and begun packing.