Deirdre did not feel the stones that bruised her feet as she ran across the yard. She was in the grip of a nightmare more terrible than any she had yet dreamed. There were tears in her throat clogging the screams that percolated up from her terror. The door seemed an eternity away, and the pause between each heartbeat became longer than the last until she thought she would burst with frustration before she reached safety. Then, mercifully, the cold stone slabs of Liscarrol’s steps were beneath her feet.
She pushed the door wide with both hands, sending it crashing against the wall with a force that reverberated throughout the great house as she reached the stairwell.
Killian was on his feet in an instant but before he could speak, Deirdre had thrown her arms about him.
“Hold me! Hold me!” she cried frantically, climbing his legs until he held her off the ground.
“What is it? What has happened?” Killian demanded as he felt deep shivers ripple through her. “Is someone outside? Were you attacked?”
Deirdre shook her head wildly, her nails digging into his
back as though he would disappear if she relaxed her grip. “Nothing! Nothing!”
Fey lifted her head from her pallet and said groggily, “She were dreaming again. She did it often in her father’s home. Like as not, she’s had another dream of the
púca
.”
“It was not a dream!” Deirdre cried, only to realize the implication of what she had said. “’Twas a nightmare,” she added lamely.
Killian lowered her to the ground and brushed back the tangle of hair from her face with a gentle hand. “Dreaming again? Like the last time? Was it me this time?”
Deirdre shook her head, refusing to look up at him. “’Twas a different dream.”
“But it frightened you just the same.”
She nodded.
“Well, there’ll be no more nightmares. I’ll see to that.” He picked up his cloak, which had served as their blanket, and wrapped her in it. “Come sit by me while I stir the fire. ’Twill be light soon. The days are lengthening. ’Tis spring, and summer cannot be far behind.” He continued to speak in the same light tone as he settled her beside him and tucked her under his arm.
Deirdre opened the cloak to share the warmth with him and then wrapped her arms tightly about his waist as she laid her head against his chest. The solid, even rhythm of his heart was the most welcome sound in the world. Yet, she could not completely shake the quiver of revulsion she felt for the grotesque figment of her imagination. What were these dreams which plagued her? Was Brigid right, did she have powers over which she had no control? If that were so, why should they come to her? What could they mean?
When he could think of nothing more to say, Killian began to softly whistle a tune. One became a second, and before the third was finished he felt Deirdre slump against him and knew that she had fallen asleep.
He did not think of sleeping again. He had too many matters on his mind. He had sent two dozen of his best milk cows to market with Colin’s son, Enan. If they
brought him the money he expected, he would at last be able to provide some measure of comfort for Deirdre.
He bent and brushed a kiss across her forehead. No wonder she had nightmares, living in a drafty, windowless ruin. He was still amazed that she smiled at him with such love. Many another lady would have run home in tears to her parents, but Deirdre stayed and remained hopeful that their lives would change.
Killian smiled suddenly. Some things would change immediately. If he was forced to eat one more serving of
cabaiste Scotch
,
he knew he would explode. Cabbage hearts and onions with sour cream were not a thing of which to make a steady diet.
“Tomorrow,
mo cuishle
,
you will have salmon,” he whispered. He had seen the first of the fish in the river that morning, a single flash of silver beneath the green-brown waters. The spawning season would soon be upon them and the bounty of the season would augment their diet.
*
“What do you mean by saying they’re gone?” Killian demanded angrily.
“They was taken, m’lord,” Colin’s son Enan mumbled, his head hung low.
“Who took them?”
“An Englishman named Glover. He says ’twas ag’n the law, an Irishman selling his stock at the open market.”
Killian stared at Enan until the boy began to shake, but his black scowl was not for Enan but for his own thoughtlessness in the matter.
The boy was too miserably ashamed of his own poor accounting to be silent. “I should have gone into town to check afore I drove ’em in, but there wasn’t supposed to be English gentry at the market.” He hung his head again. “I forgot about the Discoverers.”
“Call them spies! The slunk-back weasels who profit from depriving upright men of their livelihood should not be dignified with a title,” Killian answered sharply. “So, I
am to be served with a Bill of Discovery, am I? And until then my cattle are locked away.”
The boy nodded miserably. “’Twill be a week or so, I’m thinking. They must send to Cork for the magistrate.”
“Well then, I must do something in the meantime. I will not wait upon the pleasure of the local authorities.” Killian dropped a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Find O’Donovan for me. Do not begin a lie, lad. I know you know how he’s to be found. I do not ask you to betray that confidence. I ask that you get a message to him that I must see him at once.”
When the boy was gone, Killian went to the chapel where he kept his pistol in the niche that had once housed the Blessed Host. He had secreted the gun there along with the powder and shot he had had on him when they lost all their other belongings. He had no alternative but to go with O’Donovan to meet the French smuggler. His share should be enough to keep Liscarrol supplied until he could find a way out of the Bill of Discovery.
“What are you doing?”
Killian looked up and smiled at Deirdre. “Going hunting,” he said shortly and pocketed his weapon.
Deirdre licked her lips nervously. Killian had left her side before she awoke at mid-morning and she had not immediately sought him out. She had not been seeking him out at this moment, but now that they faced each other, she knew she should say something. What could she say about her actions of the night before that would neither sound foolish nor yet be a lie? “I slept well,” she began uncertainly.
“And glad I am to hear it,” Killian replied smoothly. Deirdre’s eyes were downcast and her cheeks were too pale for his liking, but he was determined not to mention the events of the night before if she did not do so first.
“I believe I must have been walking in my sleep during the night,” she added softly.
“So it would appear,” Killian answered. What had she seen before daybreak that frightened her so much that she must keep it a secret from him? Always before, even when she had thought that he was the horseman who had struck
her, she had come running to him with the accusation. “You are feeling better now?” he asked.
“Aye.” Deirdre raised her head and made a small helpless gesture with her hands. “I feel so foolish.” She looked at him solemnly. “We are yet a little like strangers to each other.”
Killian nodded. “But we shall learn,
acushla
,
we shall learn. We have time.”
Without him saying so, she knew that that was his answer to her need for privacy just now. He was satisfied that she could not tell him everything. In time, when she felt stronger, she would confide in him. Perhaps she would even reveal what Brigid had told her of the legend of the ancestor.
“I will be gone for a few days.” Killian curved an arm about her waist and turned her toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To slay a dragon for my lady fair.”
Deirdre slanted a doubtful gaze at him. “You must be bored beyond reckoning. Conall and Darragh would not have been half so patient. They always kept their visits to Nantes short so that they would not grow so ill-humored from lack of activity that they would bicker with Da.”
“There, you see, you know me better than you think,” Killian answered, grateful that she had not taxed him with questions of where and why he was going.
He smiled above her head. “A gift rarer than pearls, a complaisant wife.”
“I will not ask you where you go, only that you return, and quickly.” Deirdre kept her head lowered. She did not want him to see the selfish tears that stung her eyes. He deserved to do as he saw fit. She mustered her brightest voice as she said, “Does the dragon guard a great fortune?”
“I devoutly hope so!”
She looked up in amazement. “You would not do anything wrong?”
Killian stopped and pulled her against him so that she could not see his face. “I would not do anything to harm you. If I flirt with danger, it is because it pleases me. Do you understand that?”
Deirdre nodded. She did understand. “How could I not…a woman with soldiers for family?”
Killian bent and kissed her quick and hard before releasing her. “Colin and his family will help you. Give me a few days. I will return.”
*
Fey struck at the tall grasses by the river with a stick. MacShane had gone away and, not only would he not allow her to accompany him, he had asked her to look after Lady Deirdre.
She swung viciously at a newly sprung nettle plant, neatly loping off its head. “
That
,
for the care I’ll be giving her!”
She hunched her shoulders, dissatisfied with the vague unease her feelings caused her. She had never before regretted her feelings, only used them as valid reasons for her actions. She could not give up her jealous dislike of Lady Deirdre, not when she had MacShane’s love. Their talk had not changed her feelings in the matter, just made it painfully clear to her how utterly hopeless her feelings for him were.
She looked up as rooks’ cries sounded overhead. On graceful expanses of shiny black wings, the flock swooped out of the sky and settled in the hedgerow which grew up near the bridge. Their raucous cries and preening irritated Fey. She wanted to be alone with her dark thoughts. Without really thinking about it, she ran screaming toward the birds, beating the hedge to drive them off. They took flight immediately, all indignant cries and flapping wings.
“Are ye that daft, lass?”
Enan appeared suddenly at the end of the bridge and came toward her, his face flushed with anger. He snatched the stick out of her hand and broke it over his knee. “’Tis
certain ye know nothing of the ways of the Munster. The
man who claims a rookery on his property is a man folk respect. If the birds are run off, a man’s luck will leave with them.”
Fey stared at the gawky young man. In the month that
his family at been at Liscarrol, he had not spoken a single word to her. Now he spouted rebuke.
Her chin jutted out. “I can do as I wish!”
“Not when it endangers another man’s luck,” Enan answered promptly. He shook his head and dislodged a reddish shock of hair which dipped across his brow and into his eyes. He pointed a finger at her. “Look at ye, strutting about in a man’s breeches when ye should be properly dressed in skirt and shawl. Aren’t ye ashamed?”
His words made Fey even angrier. “Ashamed? What would ye be knowing of anything, ye whey-faced cow herder!”
“I know a lass when I see one,” he answered, his jaw jutting out to match her own.
Almost unwillingly, Fey noticed that his chin bristled with fine golden whiskers. He was a head taller than she, and though his shirt hung shapelessly from his shoulders, those shoulders were broad and sinewy. He was not handsome but not ugly, plain-faced but for his bright blue eyes.
For reasons she could not understand, her observations made her even angrier. She turned away and picked up a new stick and began deliberately to lop off the heads of the yellow-leafed plants which grew near the water’s edge.
Enan watched her in frowning disapproval for a moment but he said nothing until one leaf flew up and then drifted down into the water.
“Och! Stop!” he cried and reached out to grab her wrist. “That’s
bainnicin
!
Ye’ll poison the fish!”
Fey lurched away and then swung her free fist up to strike him hard on the nose. With a yelp of outrage, Enan clapped a hand over his offended nose. “’Tis bleeding,” he cried accusingly.
Fey jumped back as he bared his teeth in anger, and her feet slipped on the slick grass that sloped down to the water. With a squeal she flung her arms out to catch her balance, teetered a moment uncertainly as she continued to slide backward, and then fell spread-eagled into the river.
Enan watched her flounder a moment, waiting for her to right herself, but suddenly he realized that she was not
staying afloat very well. She could not swim. With a curse of disgust, he flung himself into the water after her.
“Ye damn stupid bitch!” Enan yelled near her ear as he caught her by the collar. “Ye could’ve drowned, and how would that have looked for me? ‘Drowned the lord’s ward, did ye, Enan?’ Like as not they’d have hanged me over the small loss!”
Fey allowed herself to be dragged toward the shore, too limp with fear to protest. When he loosened his hold, she panicked and grabbed him too tightly about the neck.