L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep (13 page)

Finally she could resist its power no more. “I don’t know if I’m
strong enough!” she cried. “If I can
be
strong enough.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Then let me be strong
for both of us.” He picked up her hand from where it lay on her lap, entwined
his fingers with hers and raised it to his lips to press a soft kiss upon her
knuckles. “You
are
a brave woman,
Moira FitzGerald. I do not doubt the depth of your strength for a moment.
You’ve withstood much sorrow, and your concerns are far from over.” He lowered
their joined hands to her lap, but didn’t release her hand—or her gaze. “For
now, while you’re here with me, you needn’t worry, or think of anything but
yourself.” He cradled her against his side. “This is what I would give to you,
Moira—someone to share the bad and the good, a strong arm to protect you.”

Moira felt a sense of loss so overwhelming, ′twas all she
could do to breathe. Never had she wanted anything so much as she wanted to
accept Connor’s offer—to accept him.

She forced herself to move, and struggled out of his hold. “No
more, I beg you,” she whispered, standing before him. She covered her face with
her hands and fought for calm. Lowering her hands, she wiped the moisture from
her cheeks and faced him. “Do you think I want to cause your death as well?”

Connor rose and held out a hand to her. “Have you so little faith
in me, Moira? When I make a vow, I keep it come what may.”

Tears flowed from her eyes unchecked. “What will come is Hugh and
his allies. They will not stop until they’ve taken what they want—my babe. It
doesn’t matter to me
who
fathered my
child. I am its mother, and I refuse to allow them the opportunity to turn my
son or daughter into one of them.” She pressed her hands over her belly, taking
comfort from the babe’s gentle movements. “But neither do I want them to
destroy
you
.”

“They’ll not harm me,” he said firmly. “Or if they do it matters
naught, as long as you are safe.” He raked his hand through his hair and looked
out at the roiling sea.

His words cut deeply into Moira’s heart, laying bare to her how
much she’d come to value him—to care for him. But she couldn’t allow that to
stand in the way of protecting her child, she reminded herself. Her child must
remain her primary concern.

Then shouldn’t she give in to Connor, accept his proposal, no
matter the harm it might bring to him?

As long as she kept her babe safe.

She could not do it, not yet—could not find the determination to
endanger Connor when there might be another way to protect the babe and him
both, and to keep the castle out of Hugh MacCarthy’s hands.

Never mind how her heart urged her to selfishly seize the comfort
and support that Connor offered—the chance to be his wife in truth, in every
way that mattered to her. When Connor returned his attention to her, he wore an
expression so fierce she might have been afraid, had it been any other man but
him. “How do you suggest we protect the child? How do we protect you?” he
asked, his tone as intense as his appearance. “From what you’ve told me about
Hugh MacCarthy—by the saints, from what I’ve seen of your own brother—you’re
not safe here, Moira. If I believed I could spirit you away from here and send
you to Rannulf, I would. But I doubt we’d travel a league before we’d be
attacked.”

“I doubt they’d harm me, lest they hurt the child.” Small
comfort, should she fall into MacCarthy’s hands.

Clenching his fists at his sides, Connor took a step closer to
her. “There’s no telling what might happen to you in a battle, Moira. ′Tis
not orderly and neat—you know that. No matter how closely we guard you, there’s
no guarantee we can shield you from them. And the journey to England is long
and hard. What would happen if the child came while we were on the road?” He
shook his head. “I will not allow you to put yourself into harm’s way.”

“But I’m to permit
you
to risk harm yourself?” she demanded. “To save me?” She closed the distance
between them and met his stare. “I tell you now, I will not have it. I don’t
care if we continue to hide behind these walls until every MacCarthy in Ireland
is dead, if it keeps
everyone
safe.”

“But that’s the problem, Moira,” he told her, his voice quiet,
almost sad. “Hiding behind the castle walls won’t keep you safe. Not if
MacCarthy finds a way in.”

She closed her fingers in the voluminous skirt of her gown to
keep from grabbing Connor by the shirt and shaking him. “What do you mean?” she
asked, her voice quavering despite her attempt to sound calm. “Have we a
traitor in our midst?”

God help them if that were so … Though it could not be, else
Hugh would have struck by now, wouldn’t he? Before Connor had arrived with
reinforcements?

“No traitor that I know of,” he said. “So far as I can tell, the
threat remains outside the walls. But it won’t be long before they find their
way in, if what I’ve heard is true.” Connor reached down and tugged her wrist
till she released her grip on her gown, then took her by the hand. “Come, you
look as though you’re ready to fall over,” he said. He led her back to the rock
and, taking her by the shoulders, urged her to sit down. Even in the rapidly
fading light she could see his concern. He joined her and let go of her hand.
“I planned to tell you—tonight, most likely, if I could find a moment to speak
with you without an audience.”

She weighed the sound of his voice, his expression and the fact
that he didn’t meet her gaze, and came to her own conclusion. “Don’t think to
mislead me now. I may not know you well, but ′tis clear to me you’d no
intention of sharing whatever you’ve learned until you had to.” He opened his
mouth to speak, but she covered it with her hand and shook her head. “Don’t,”
she warned him. She pressed her fingers tighter over his lips when she felt him
try again to speak. “Don’t deny you’ve been avoiding me. If you’d rather not
spend time in my presence, ′tis your right. But ′tis my right to
know if we’re in danger.” Resisting the urge to cup Connor’s whisker-covered
cheek in her palm, she moved her hand away.

Connor promptly caught it in his grasp and brought it to his
lips, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “′Tis true, I’ve
been avoiding you.” He entwined his fingers with hers and added, “This is one
reason why.”

Heat suffused her face at the warmth in his voice, his eyes. It
swept through her to settle in parts of her body she hadn’t realized could feel
such yearning.

“You cannot . .
. ”
Heart thumping
wildly, she shook her head and tried to pull free of his clasp, but he
continued to hold her, with his hand and his gaze. “You cannot want me in that
way!” She gestured toward her stomach. “Look at me! I am huge with another
man’s child. I was never beautiful, but now—”

“You
are
beautiful,
Moira—the babe simply makes you more so. I find you lovely, enticing . .
. ”
He brought her hand to his lips once again, then loosed
his light hold and stood. “Which is a good reason why we should not remain out
here by ourselves,” he added, glancing out into the gathering dusk. “′Tis
too dark to be here now, at any rate.” He picked up his sword and tunic, then
held out his hand to help her up off the rock.

“We can continue this conversation inside the keep, with Will and
Sir Ivor present.” He sighed and moved his grip from the warm intimacy of her
hand to an impersonal clasp of her arm to help her over the uneven ground.
Pausing for a moment, he tightened his fingers. “I swear you’ll have no reason
to fear being alone with me, Moira. But perhaps ′tis better if I limit
myself to visiting you only when others are present.”

She could scarce see him in the murky twilight, but she couldn’t
mistake the sincerity vibrating in his voice. “I have never feared you, Connor.
I know of no reason why I should.”

Connor heard Moira say the words, felt them settle over him like
a blanket of peace, security—trust.

She trusted him, when
he
did not know if she should.

Was he capable of living up
to her trust?
he
wondered as he led her through
the darkness.

Or would his father’s legacy prove too strong to overcome?

As they silently made their way back to the castle, Connor
helping her over the rough ground, Moira wondered yet again if she should
simply give in, accept his proposal of marriage. It would strengthen her
position greatly, for ′twould be difficult indeed for Hugh MacCarthy to
wrest control of her from Connor if she were his wife.

And if, God forbid, Connor were killed … Nay, she’d not think
of that! She stumbled against him and had to fight the urge to clutch him to
her as he caught her by the arms and steadied her. Despite the pain such a
horrid, morbid thought caused her, she should approach the situation sensibly,
she
reminded herself. If some harm should come to Connor, as
his wife she’d have the full power of Rannulf FitzClifford behind her, more so
than she did now—for Rannulf would be more likely to protect his sister by
marriage than a mere vassal’s widow.

Though hadn’t Rannulf already provided her with the best defense
he could by sending his brother to her?

That being the case, the best security she could provide for her
child would be to marry Connor without further delay.

The harm that decision might bring to Connor sent a chill through
her. By the Virgin, she thought, casting a sidelong glance at him as they
crossed the
torchlit
bailey, contemplating her
dilemma was enough to drive her mad!

They entered the hall, where Sir Will and Sir Ivor sprawled upon
benches drawn up before the hearth, drinking horns in hand.

“Milord—well met,” Sir Will called. “We were just about to go
looking for you.”

“Were you?” Connor asked, giving Moira a glimpse of his skeptical
grin before he hastened across the hall to join them. “You’ll pardon me if I
doubt that.” He paused on the dais to wait for her, then, once she reached him,
tugged another bench closer to the massive fireplace and motioned for her to
sit down.

She settled on the bench with a weary sigh, sliding over a bit to
make room for Connor.

“Mead, milady?” Sir Will asked, holding aloft a pitcher.

“Nay, I thank you,” Moira said. Of late, mead made her sleepy.
While she could use a decent night’s rest, at the moment she needed her wits
about her more than she needed to sleep.

“Milord?” Sir Will had already begun to pour the drink.

“Aye,” Connor said. “All my quest this afternoon accomplished was
to kindle an immense thirst.” He raised one arm and stretched it high above his
head, then reached for the horn Sir Will held out to him. “And sore muscles.”

She glanced at the two knights, their garb dusty, their heads and
shoulders liberally festooned with cobwebs. “Where have you been?” she asked.

To her surprise, ′twas Sir Ivor who straightened, set down
his drink and replied. “Lord Connor sent us into the undercroft, milady, to
seek a hidden passageway.” He looked a different man, his face relaxed, his
eyes alight with excitement.

“Indeed?” Moira scarce knew how to respond to this new side of
Sir Ivor. What could account for the change in his demeanor? Whatever the
cause, she didn’t dare trust him any more now than she had when he’d snarled
and insulted her. She turned to Connor and asked, “For what purpose?”

Connor drank deeply of the mead and gave a satisfied sigh.
Glancing about the large chamber, he sent the few servants at their end of the
hall scurrying with a single look. “As I told you before, Moira,” he said, his
voice pitched low, “I’ve heard that the threat to Gerald’s Keep will come from
the cliffs. I don’t know if that means from within the cliffs, or in the walls
of the castle itself. Will and I searched in the cellars this morn, and I sent
Will and Sir Ivor to continue looking beneath the keep while I investigated
outside.”

“Do you think we ought to move someplace else to talk about this,
milord?” Sir Will asked. “The
servants’ll
be coming
in to set up the trestles soon, won’t they, milady?”

Moira nodded. “They should be about their work already.” She
rose. “′Tis nigh time for supper to be served, milord. I should send the
servants in here at once. Where would you care to go for this discussion?”

Connor eyed the great hall, then stood as well. “I’m certain
you’re heartily sick of your chambers, so we’ll not consider
your
solar.” He looked over the table and benches on the dais. “If we move these
back, farther from the main floor, we should be able to speak freely so long as
we’re quiet about it.”

Moira approached Connor and, taking him by the arm, led him away
from the others. “Are you certain, milord?” she murmured. “′Twill be
noisy here—”

“All the better to drown out our words,” Connor interrupted. He
stared at her for a moment. “Shall I send Will to carry your message to the
servants? You look weary.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “Such attention, milord! You’ll turn my
head for certain. Who knows what I might agree to if you keep it up?” Sighing,
she lowered herself onto the bench. “But I thank you for the offer. I’ll be
more grateful than I can say to sit and rest.”

Connor sent Sir Will and Sir Ivor off to carry out their orders,
then returned to join her on the bench. “Would you rather I helped you to your
chamber and sent Brigit to you?”

“Nay. Too many of our conversations have been cut short because
of me.” He rose, snatched several cushions from the settle beside the fireplace
and piled them into her lap. “I’ll be fine here, especially since I can see
that you plan to coddle me,” she said, smiling.

“′Tis the least I can do.” Frowning, he scooped her,
pillows and all, into his arms and deposited her on the settle he’d just
cleared. “You’re supposed to use them to make a more comfortable seat,” he
said. He took two from her and wedged them behind her back, then moved a low
stool closer and knelt to prop her feet upon it. “What else shall I fetch for
you, milady?” he asked as he stood, making a sweeping bow, his wide smile
infectious.

Her face red, Moira picked up the remaining cushion and held it
poised to toss at him. “Enough, Connor!” Laughter bubbled through her, along
with a tide of warmth. She lowered her voice and tried—unsuccessfully—for a
stern tone. “Do you wish for everyone to see how helpless I’ve become?”

Connor leaned toward her, still smiling, his dark eyes bright
with amusement. “Not helpless, milady—cosseted, as you deserve.” He took the
pillow from her and slipped it beneath her feet. “How can anyone think less of
you for that?”

“′Tis doubtless a blessing that Sir Ivor isn’t here,” she
said, sobering. “Else I’m sure he’d have something uncomplimentary to say.”

Connor sat down beside her. “It seems his opinion is changing,”
he told her. “According to Will—” He broke off as the two knights reentered the
hall and approached the dais.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying as they crossed the
floor, but she nearly slid off the settle, so great was her shock, when Sir
Ivor let out a roar of laughter and clapped Sir Will on the arm.

She glanced at Connor, who appeared as surprised as she. He
merely raised an eyebrow in response to her questioning look before his face
settled into a noncommittal expression.

A trail of servants followed hot on their heels. In no time, the
hall had been prepared for the evening meal and the chamber began to fill with
noisy diners. Sir Will and Sir Ivor drew the furnishings on the dais as far
from the main floor of the hall as they could, and as they ate, Connor laid out
the details of what he’d learned.

Sir Will and Sir Ivor had discovered nothing during their search
of the undercroft, and Moira could see that all three of the men were
frustrated by the lack of progress. She, too, wished that some helpful bit of
information would turn up soon, for at this point, it seemed that immuring
themselves within the castle indefinitely was their only alternative to giving
in to Hugh MacCarthy’s demands.

Everyone left the hall after the meal was over, the men heading
for the barracks outside the keep tower and Moira wearily seeking her bed. But
once she climbed beneath the covers and settled herself, sleep abandoned her.

She stared at the fire in the hearth through the opened curtains
at the foot of the bed, letting her mind wander where it would and hoping the
low, dancing flames might lull her into slumber. The warmth and comfort relaxed
her body. Her mind, however, refused to stop worrying about the question of a
secret entrance into Gerald’s Keep.

Where could it be? The men had inspected barely half of the
undercroft. ′Twas a dirty, time-consuming task, especially since they
knew nothing about the arrangement of the supplies stored there. They’d have
been better served to have taken her with them—she knew the storerooms more
thoroughly than anyone else at Gerald’s Keep, save Brigit, perhaps.

Now that she considered it, she recalled several places where the
tower foundation incorporated stones far older than those used to build the
castle—from the ancient fortress that once stood there, most likely. What
better place to hide a passageway?

And if ′twas from the old fortress, perhaps ′twould
explain how the MacCarthys had learned of it.

Excitement coursed through her veins, making her restless, eager
to finally have something useful she could do. She threw aside the bedcovers
and dressed in an old, shabby gown, drawing a cloak about her shoulders against
the cellar’s constant chill. There were no lanterns here, but she could find
one near the door from the hall to the bailey. Making certain she had her ring
of keys, a flint and steel in the pouch suspended from her belt, and her eating
knife in its sheath, she left her chamber.

Staying to the shadows, Moira crept past those sleeping on the
floor of the great hall, took up a lantern from the hook by the door and went
outside.

The bailey was deserted, lit only by a few flickering torches set
at intervals on the stone walls. She paused beneath a torch not far from the
door to the undercroft to light the lantern, swiftly shuttered it,
then
stole the rest of the way, her soft shoes noiseless on
the cobbles.

She knew the trick to making the lock work smoothly and silently.
Picking up the lantern, she entered the noisome depths of the cellar and pulled
the door closed behind her.

Connor spent a short while in the barracks with the men, as much
to judge for himself whether any of them might be a traitor as to observe how
well the soldiers of Gerald’s Keep had combined with his troops. Satisfied that
the rigorous training program he’d instituted hadn’t sent Moira’s men to their
pallets, he’d also been pleased to see their spirits remained surprisingly
high, and that they seemed eager to fight.

Now all he needed was a real foe for them to face, instead of
vague threats from a spineless coward.

A foe who remained
outside
the castle walls.

A flicker of light across the bailey caught his attention, but it
disappeared before he could see anything more. Tightening his hand on his sword
hilt, he glided closer in time to hear the faintest creak of metal against
metal.

But he saw no one.

Senses alert, his suspicions aroused, he seized a torch from the
wall and crept toward the door to the undercroft. A tug at the handle showed ′twas
locked, as it should be, but the sound had come from here. He felt in the pouch
on his belt for the key that Will had returned to him tonight. Snuffing the
torch and laying it aside, he unlocked the door.

He managed to get it open without creating a racket this time,
but whoever had gone inside was bound to hear the faint squeal of the hinges.
Connor shut the door, blocking the faint glow from the bailey and pitching the
area into total darkness.