“Stubborn,” he muttered. “That is why I have decided that you must go to safety. You risk too much, even for my taste.”
“You might have come with me,” she said low.
“But I did.” His hard-featured face was inscrutable. “Who do you think stood at your back while Dary was christened? Who led your pony home?”
“Enan,” she answered faintly.
Killian shook his head. “Enan went ahead to stand watch while Mass was said.”
“But you were here when I entered,” Deirdre protested.
“Two doors,” Killian offered coldly. “So, you are not so clever, Dee, and I cannot spend my days spying upon you. You will pack today and we will leave for Cork in the morning.”
Deirdre stiffened at the rebuke. He was packing her up and sending her off as though she were a naughty child or a faithless wife. “What will you do?”
Killian shrugged. He had yet to make his move against O’Donovan, but his weeks of spying had uncovered dangerous information that could hang the smuggler. “I’ve an interview with the authorities. When I’ve proven myself a loyal subject to the English Crown, I will return to Liscarrol. I must find a way to make a decent living before I can consider sending for you.”
“That could be months!”
“So it could,” he answered heavily.
Deirdre looked at him incredulously. This cold man was the one she had met in her father’s kitchen, had encountered again the day Fey was discovered to be a lass, had faced in
Cork the morning she challenged his deceit about the journey to Liscarrol. Each and every time she thought she had his measure, he confounded her. He had lied to her once; he was doing so again. “Did you take an oath of loyalty and embrace a new religion in Cork?”
To her surprise, Killian seemed not at all affected by her words. Except for the shuttering of his gaze by heavy black lashes, he did not move. “I have not, but perhaps I shall do both,” he said in a curt voice.
“I cannot imagine myself wed to a turncoat,” she answered defiantly.
Killian leaned toward her, his face set in lines of anger and some indefinable torment. “Another Bill of Discovery may soon be brought against me. If it is found that Liscarrol exceeds the number of acres a papist is legally entitled to, the land will be confiscated unless I swear my loyalty to the English throne.”
Deirdre shook her head. “I do not care! As much as I love Liscarrol, I love you more. If we must leave, then let’s do so together.”
The speech knocked the force from Killian’s anger. It was the one thing he had never expected to hear from her. The one desire that had never left her, even when she had followed him to Paris, was her wish to live at Liscarrol. His love had not been enough to dissuade her from the goal. It was too much to expect that she had suddenly changed her mind. He must not read too much into her words, he cautioned himself. He must not.
“You speak out of anger and anxiety.” He covered her hand where it lay on the table but his voice was relentless and hard. “I will not lose Liscarrol. It will remain yours as long as I live to hold it!”
Deirdre reached out to him but he was on his feet. “So, you will pack and be ready, at first light.” He strode toward the door. “I must see to a few things. We will talk again at dinner.”
Deirdre sat a moment in stunned sorrow. He was sending her away, and barring an act of outright defiance on her part, she must accept his decision.
“His lordship’s got the right of it. Ye should be safe away afore trouble returns.”
Deirdre looked up to find Mrs. Ross at her elbow. “I do not agree, Mrs. Ross. And another thing, Captain MacShane is not a lord.”
The woman stared at her a long moment before saying, “And yet he’s the look and sound of a lord; and being that he’s snared the heart of a lady, ’twould seem he’s earned the respect of the title.”
Chastened by the woman’s words, Deirdre’s cheeks burned. “I learned long ago that a man’s estate is seldom a fair measure of his worth. My husband is a MacShane, and there was a time when a clan name was enough for an Irishman.”
Mrs. Ross smiled. “Aye, ’tis enough for me. Will ye need me help in packing, yer ladyship?”
Deirdre sadly shook her head. “I will do it myself. Where is Fey? If I am leaving, she must go with me.”
Mrs. Ross’s expression soured. “Well that she should! Me Enan’s a shade too fond of the lass for me liking. She’ll be hanging about, watching him at his chores, while himself struts before her like a cock in the barnyard.”
The rest of the morning passed in uncanny quiet as the promise of a beautiful dawn turned into a steady downpour that grayed the sky and hills and valley until the view from the windows of Liscarrol was that of a single, vast, colorless expanse.
When Fey returned at mid-afternoon, she was unusually subdued; and though they did not speak of it, Deirdre knew that Killian had informed Fey that she was to leave Liscarrol also.
Dusk came quickly, changing the pale grayness to smoke and laying deep purple shades among the shadows.
The heavy pounding at the door came only an instant before Mrs. Ross appeared from the rear of the house.
“That’ll be Oadh O’Donovan himself,” she announced
loudly and then melted away as quickly as she had come.
Killian smiled briefly at Deirdre as he rose from their evening meal. “Better than a hound, that woman.”
“Och! ’Tis a devil of an evening to be abroad,” O’Donovan announced when he was shown into the Great Hall. Rain streamed from his cloak and ran in rivulets from his bare head. “Will ye not be offering a man a seat by yer hearth, MacShane?”
“That depends upon the reason for your visit,” Killian answered, blocking his path with a wide-legged stance.
O’Donovan looked over Killian’s shoulder to where Deirdre sat. “A good evening to ye, lass. Will ye offer a neighbor a dry spot out of the rain?”
“Lady MacShane will do as I wish,” Killian answered for her. “What brings you here on such a night, O’Donovan? Have you come to bait your trap?”
O’Donovan’s brows rose in amazement. “
Musha!
Would I then be knocking and paying me respects?”
“Perhaps,” Killian replied, but he stood aside.
O’Donovan stomped his feet and swung his sodden cloak from his shoulders, dropping it on the slate floor. His gaze moved greedily over the contents of the table as he came forward. “It would nae come amiss, a piece of that bread, la—yer ladyship.”
Deirdre pushed the bowl toward him with two fingers, refusing to serve him. As Killian stood by, he helped himself and ate two large pieces of oat bread in as many bites. When he reached for the third, Killian’s hand shot out and moved the dish from under his grasp.
“I did not invite you to dine. Tell me why you’re here, or go the way you came.”
O’Donovan’s pale eyes gleamed in the meager light. “So, ’tis to be that way. Fair enough. I came to warn ye that English soldiers are once more in the valley.”
Killian met his sly gaze with a wintry look. “You bastard!”
“Well, that’s fine thanks! Did ye think I would nae come to warn ye if they were after ye? As they’re nae hunting ye, I thought ye’d care to know that, too. There’s nae pleasing some.” He straightened himself to his full height. “And ye can be certain there’ll be no more warnings.”
“Who are they after?” Deirdre questioned as the two men glared at each other.
He turned a wide grin on her. “Ye being a daughter of
the Sidhe and an early riser on new-mooned Sabbaths, I thought ye would know. There’re hounds abroad asniffing and abaying for blood.” He leaned toward her. “Who’s blood do they howl for,
beanfeasa
?”
She realized several things at once: that O’Donovan knew of her journey to the hillside Mass; that her fear of spies among the communicants had been a legitimate concern; and that O’Donovan’s news was connected to the event. “The English hunt a priest.”
O’Donovan chuckled with glee. “There! Did I nae say you’d know the answer? And not just any priest. ’Tis a certain scoundrel going by the name of Teague O’Donovan.” He winked at Killian. “The English have it on good authority that he’s a smuggler as well as a rapparee.”
“But that cannot be true!” Deirdre shot to her feet. “He’s a kind and gentle man whom I doubt is worldly enough to understand the full peril in which he stands. That’s true, isn’t it, Killian?”
Killian watched O’Donovan. There was a trap for him in this, he could smell it. But when and how would it be sprung?
O’Donovan rubbed his bearded chin. “I will be going now, for a man knows when he’s outstayed his welcome.” He started toward the door but then turned back. “A last word to ye. I would nae open me doors to another knock this night.” He stared pointedly at Killian. “Cousin Teague is of a mind that he has friends among the local gentry. I would nae want ye to be hanged for harboring a criminal.” With his cloak flung carelessly over his shoulder, he descended the stairwell.
“What does he mean?” Deirdre questioned when Killian bolted the door and returned. “Will Father Teague come here?”
“No,” Killian replied curtly. “That he will not!”
As Deirdre watched, he drew his cloak from a peg and settled it about his shoulders.
“What are you doing? You can’t be thinking of trying to find Father Teague.”
“That is exactly what I’m planning to do,” Killian replied. He took his pistol from his belt and began reloading
it. “You will not be aware of it because there’s been no time to tell you, but Teague and I are childhood friends.” He looked up from his work with a small smile. “But for a chance encounter with a wild-haired lass of seven, I might be wearing a cassock like his today.”
“Why did he not tell me?” Deirdre felt faintly betrayed by both men.
“I would not allow it. Teague is a man of odd temperament. He’s a dreamer, a fanciful man of strong ideals but little common sense. No man in Munster would trust O’Donovan; but Teague has, and how his cousin has betrayed him.”
Deirdre gnawed her lip. She did not understand all that Killian told her, but one thing was vividly clear. “So you will risk your life to save Father Teague.”
It was a statement requiring no answer, so Killian said nothing. O’Donovan had known he would, too. That was why he had brought the news himself. No doubt he hoped the English would catch the priest and the owner of Liscarrol together and hang them both.
“You might be killed or at the very least arrested. If you’re caught, you will be charged with abetting a priest.”
Killian looked up again, his work finished, and slipped his pistol back into his belt. His expression was grim. “Why did you not think of that the morning you sneaked away from me to attend Mass? What I do, I do with your knowledge.”
“It makes it no less dangerous,” she said.
“No,” he answered unhelpfully and belted on his sword.
“Let me go with you.”
Killian looked up sharply, as though she had struck him with a stick, and then his expression turned gentle and he shook his head. “No, lass.”
“I’m a fair shot,” Deirdre insisted. “I’ve held the English at bay once already. You’d have been proud of me.”
“So Mrs. Ross said,” he answered with a warming grin.
“Mrs. Ross said?” Deirdre echoed. “She’s never had a pleasant word to say to me in all these months.”
“There you’re wrong. You quite astonished her that particular day, and don’t think the whole valley doesn’t know of it. Not a week past, Cuan O’Dineen offered his respects to you for your fine accounting with the soldiers. Do not allow it to go to your head, however. I, for one, was not amused.”
“Perhaps Father Teague will come to us if we wait,” Deirdre offered.
“He will not. I know where he is.”
“Where is that?”
Killian gazed at her and said, his voice cool, “There are things a man may not tell even his wife.”
“You do not trust me!” Deirdre said stiffly.
Killian turned away. “’Tis not a matter of trust. ’Tis a matter of survival, and not only our own.” He turned to Mrs. Ross, who had again appeared in the Great Hall. “Stay here. Stay quiet. And keep the doors locked against all comers until I return.”
“Aye, yer lordship,” she answered as she opened the door to allow him to depart.
“He did not even say goodbye,” Deirdre murmured forlornly.
“’Tis no reason,” Mrs. Ross answered with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “He’s nae going away. He’s riding out a bit, ’tis all.”
“Riding?” Deirdre questioned, but Mrs. Ross was already halfway across the room and did not turn back.
Deirdre hurried to the stairwell and climbed to the second floor, where the view from one window was that of the stable.
It was that short space of time between twilight and nightfall when the world is purple. The shape that bolted from the stable into the night was blackness itself against the softer, dusky violet darkness. A swirl of black cape over the horse’s flank gave the pair a nightmarish quality.
For an instant, Deirdre stood rooted to the spot as horse and rider galloped out over the bridge and into the valley. She did not need to see the rider’s face, nor did she need the answer to the question of where the horse had come from. She simply knew, and the knowledge made her
blood still in her veins. The rider hidden beneath the black-winged cloak was Killian, the rider of her dreams.