Every muscle in her body protested as she rose from her
crouch, but then she dropped back again as another shadow detached itself from the river’s edge.
Deirdre rubbed her eyes with a weary hand. Was she dreaming? Was she delirious, or did Liscarrol swarm with spies and secrets?
When she lifted her head again, she was surprised to see a man on the bridge, sauntering across its creaky surface as though he were an expected guest. It was too dark to see his coloring or clothing.
Once more, she rose painfully to her feet. If she could just reach the house, the turf fire, the warmth of Mrs. Ross’s porridge, she would never disobey Killian again. Her thoughts were childlike and she knew it, but she hurt so much, was so tired and frightened. When she was a child, there had been Da and Darragh and Conall to keep her from making mistakes. Perhaps Killian was right. Perhaps she should go back to France where she would not cause him any more anxiety.
Her cheeks burned, but the rest of her body felt icy cold as she hurried across the bridge. Mrs. Ross waited inside, she told herself, but as she neared the castle the shiver worsened until she heard the strange sound of her teeth chattering.
Something was wrong. The very scent of danger was in the air. Had the black-cloaked rider appeared in the yard before her now, she would have sighed in relief, for it would have been preferable to the feeling of clear and present danger that puckered her skin and made her stomach quiver.
She backed away from the front door.
Not that way
,
her instinct whispered.
Too quiet
.
Too still
.
Something is wrong
.
She glanced at the darkened stable in the distance but there was no sound, no sign of life. Colin and the others had disappeared. If the English soldiers had come, it would be impossible to hide the fact. The danger lay somewhere else.
Where were the two men she had seen? Who were they?
As another draft of anxiety swept her, Deirdre reached for the O’Neill skean, pulling it free. Brigid had warned her of danger, and she had thought that the danger was
bound up in her phantom horseman. Now she was no longer certain of that fact.
Keeping in the shadow of the castle walls, she made her way to the servants’ entrance in the rear. The kitchen was dark. Mrs. Ross had finished for the night. Deirdre crossed the floor, her heart beating frantically against her ribs.
The opening to the narrow stairwell yawned menacingly before her but she stepped in after only a moment’s hesitation and began to climb. As she reached the second floor she heard voices coming from the Great Hall and with a leap of joy she recognized one of them as Killian’s. She tucked her skean away and would have stepped into the room had not a second voice stopped her.
“So Cousin Teague’s safe away. Och! ’Tis sad news, I’m thinking. The English will be expecting to capture a priest. O’Donovan’s never steered them wrong yet.”
O’Donovan!
“What will you do?” she heard Killian reply in his most careless of voices. “Conjure one from thin air?”
“Strange, yer saying that, for ’tis exactly what I will do, laddie. It came to me at the riverbank that one man or another, who’s to tell them different?” There was a pause while something was flung upon the floor.
“Teague’s robes. You followed me,” Killian said.
“’Twas a bit of luck, that. I was spying on the castle in case Teague came back with ye. A clever disguise. ‘Tis what put me in mind of another trick. Ye’re of a similar height with Teague, for all he was as thin as skimmed milk. The English want a priest; I will give them
you
.”
As Deirdre heard Killian’s laughter, chills raced along her spine. She pressed herself to the wall. A cold breeze yawned up past her and she turned to look down the stairwell but it was too late. A blackness rose up before her and a hand pressed the scream back in her throat.
“You forget I’m a married man,” Killian said.
O’Donovan chuckled in return. “So ye’ve come to Ireland with a wife? Who’s to say different if I tell the English ’twas a trick to cover yer papist preaching ways? Bring a wife and nae man looks for the priest in that. The English will look at one another and wonder that they had
nae thought of that deception before. Clever? Aye, O’Donovan’s a clever man. Did I nae tell ye so?”
“I’ll deny it.”
“Sure’n ye will, but the English believe in law and order. They’ll be wanting a confession before ye ever come to trial. Torture’s a terrible thing, I hear. Ye may find yerself believing the truth of the charge before ye know it. Not every priest’s a man of iron and honor. Some go to the stake with their heads high, others cry as pitifully as any wee bairn. ’Tis the same with thieves and smugglers and—”
“Discoverers,” Killian offered.
“Well now, I’d nae be knowing that sort. Still ye should know, none in the valley will testify for ye. They’d be confessing that they know the identity of a real priest, and for that they’d hang.”
“You seem to have thought of everything.”
“I’ll be taking that as a compliment. Come the morning, I’ll be telling the valley that ’twas ye who were the Discoverer, and O’Donovan did nae more or less than best ye at yer own game!” He chuckled at his own cleverness.
“What of my wife?”
O’Donovan shrugged. “I’m nae a man to bother the Sidhe, but she’s a clever sort and could make trouble. She seems a high-strung lass. Who knows but what the news of yer arrest will nae make her mad. One mad lass drowned outside her door a few weeks past. I would nae be at all surprised were yer wife to fling herself in the river and drown herself dead!”
“She’d be a stupid bitch to do that. Ye’re growing lax, O’Donovan. The lady was spying on ye.” Cuan O’Dineen stepped from the stairwell, pushing Deirdre before him with a hand still clapped over her mouth.
“Deirdre!”
O’Donovan swung his pistol toward Killian. “Do nae bestir yerself, MacShane. The lady’s right as rain, isn’t she, O’Dineen?”
The smaller man gave a single ominous bob of his head.
Deirdre strained against the hard hand gripping her, but Cuan whispered low, “Yer husband’s a nervous man.
’Twould nae do for him to get his head blown off for lack of manners on yer part.” Deirdre stilled. “Aye, better, yer ladyship.”
“Hurt her and I’ll kill you,” Killian said softly, his gaze swinging between the two men.
“Such heat,” O’Donovan said mockingly. “’Twould sound better were ye properly dressed, MacShane. Yer lady wife is blushing with shame to see ye standing as God made ye.” He kicked the robe with his boot toe. “Put it on, lad. May as well wear it now as later.”
Killian bent to pick up the sodden garment. O’Donovan had found him before he could dress after his swim.
O’Donovan swung about as voices came from the yard below. “That’ll be the soldiers.”
“Nae, that’ll be our people,” Cuan O’Dineen answered.
O’Donovan swung toward Cuan with a startled, angry look. “They were told to keep to their homes tonight. Any man out will be hunted by the English.”
“There’s talk abroad, Oadh,” Cuan said slowly, solemnly. “Talk of treachery.”
“Of course! Did I nae tell ye the English are hunting Father Teague?”
“So ye did, but ye did nae say why.”
O’Donovan pointed at Killian with the barrel of his pistol. “There’s yer answer. He’s a Discoverer. Ye were the one to alert us to his coming. Well, I’ve been keeping watch.”
Victory beating high in him, O’Donovan found the final damning stroke as he pointed to the sodden priest’s robe on the floor. “There’s proof, if ye need it. He tied stones in the cloth and heaved it in the river. I suspect he’s killed poor Father Teague, played the hound’s part for his English masters.”
“That’s a lie,” Killian answered calmly but firmly.
A shadow appeared in the stairwell behind Cuan and became Colin Ross. Behind him another figure appeared, revealing itself as his son Enan.
“Did the others come?” Cuan asked over his shoulder.
“They’ve come,” Colin answered.
“And the other one?” Cuan pressed.
Enan smiled. “Safe away.”
Deirdre was released so suddenly that she lurched forward, but a steadying hand caught her from behind. “There’s nae need to be afraid,” Cuan said behind her. “I have only one thing to ask ye, Lady MacShane. Who’s the Discoverer?”
Deirdre stared at O’Donovan. He was perspiring, the sweat running freely over his big red face. She thought of his fear, for she had known a good measure of her own this night. And then she thought of the pathetic bag of skin and bones that had once been a child, a child dead because of Oadh O’Donovan. “I do not know if he is a Discoverer,” she said softly, “but I know he set the English on Father Teague.”
“Go to your man, Lady MacShane,” Cuan said. “Go to him and stay beside him.”
Deirdre started toward Killian but he held up a hand. “Stay away,
mo cuishle
!”
“What’s this?” O’Donovan roared. “Nae man orders me prisoners about.”
Cuan stepped forward, a skean in his hand. “There’s a traitor among us, Oadh, a traitor who’s lain on his belly among the flock, awaiting and awaiting. He kills only when the shepherd turns his back to scan the distant hills for the enemy.”
“MacShane,” O’Donovan said with a grin.
“Nae, Oadh. The wolf among us wears our wool, eats our food, kills his neighbor. The Discoverer is you!”
O’Donovan wet his lips nervously. It took a few moments for Cuan’s words to fully sink in. “Ye do nae know what ye say. MacShane’s the man ye want. The English will come and take him away.”
“The English want O’Donovan the smuggler and rapparee. Ye’ve done enough murdering among yer own,” Colin Ross said in a harsh voice. “There’ll be nae more of it!”
O’Donovan turned his pistol on the knot of men. “Ye can prove nothing.”
“We’ve yer own words to hang ye,” Cuan answered. “Didn’t I hear ye just now, boasting to MacShane how
ye’ve the ear of the English? How is it, Oadh, that ye’ve never been caught unawares?”
“I’m more clever than the rest,” O’Donovan boasted; but his hands had begun to sweat, and his forehead gleamed in the firelight.
“Not clever enough,” Enan Ross shouted and stepped forward. “We met Father Teague on the road. He was wearing MacShane’s clothing, riding MacShane’s horse. A man put the English on his trail this night. You! Discoverer!”
O’Donovan paled at the accusation, his eyes turning panicky until he realized that the boy held no weapon.
“
Gommach
!
Ye know less than a beetle on a dunghill. The English will hang MacShane, and that’ll be an end of it.”
“There’ll be an end,” Cuan agreed. “Open the doors, lad.”
O’Donovan turned his pistol on Enan as he backed toward the stairwell that led to the third floor, repeatedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ye’re making a mistake. ’Tis I who brought prosperity to ye! Who helps ye smuggle in the goods that keep yer bellies filled and yer women and children clothed?”
But they were not listening to him. Someone else had thrown the bolt on the front doors and the sound of many footsteps was heard on the main stairwell.
“They’ve come for ye, Discoverer!” Cuan announced.
O’Donovan fired the pistol at Enan. It was a desperate, hopeless measure, yet he hoped it would give him time to gain the stairs to the third floor. But, as he turned in to the dark turret, a knife flashed out, slashing him across the cheek, and he fell back with a cry of horror.
Fey leaped from the stairwell with an unearthly cry as she ran to where Enan had fallen.
The others were on O’Donovan instantly, and he was dragged backward onto the slate floor.
“Not here!” Killian had said nothing since he first saw Deirdre in the doorway. Now his voice cut across their fighting and the men turned to him. “Take him out! I will not have my wife’s home defiled!”
They gathered O’Donovan’s flailing arms and legs and
lifted him screaming above their heads as they carried him down the stairwell and out into the night.
“They will kill him!” Deirdre cried.
Killian enfolded her tightly against him. “Aye. May God rest his black soul.”
Deirdre turned her face into the hollow of Killian’s left shoulder as a bloodchilling scream rose up beyond the door. Another followed it, and then other, weaker cries that were soon drowned out by the shouts and oaths of the mob.
Killian’s hands came up to cover her ears, and Deirdre closed her eyes, concentrating on the strong, slightly rapid rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.
It was over quickly. The noise ebbed away until the night rang with silence. After a long moment, Killian’s hands eased their tight hold, but his face was hard as he gazed beyond the open doorway.
“Now there’s only the English to deal with,” he murmured to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dawn came stealing softly over the gray-walled castle as if aware that its sleepless inhabitants feared its coming. Killian had been gone two days.
Deirdre stood at the window of the chapel, staring out at the lightening sky. Killian had left shortly after O’Donovan had been taken out. That was two days ago and no word had been heard from him since. Hard tight shivers quaked through her. The people of the valley had killed O’Donovan with their bare hands. And the fault was hers.