L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep (20 page)

A chill roamed her spine, not entirely caused by the rain. What
was happening?

Head down, she hastened across the courtyard to the gatehouse.

She understood Connor’s objections to her being involved in
tonight’s activities. And she had no desire to endanger her child or herself.

But she had to know what was happening.

She could no longer remain cloistered away while the men dealt
with events that could shape her life.

Her ignorance had cost dearly, and not only
she
had
paid the price. She’d not allow herself to fall into that trap
again.

Besides, a good many of the men who’d gone out to fight, Connor
included, didn’t know the MacCarthys or their men.

Or precisely what they were capable of.

Treading with care over the slippery cobblestones, Moira crossed
the last few yards to the tower door. It swung open before she reached it.
“Milady!” the guard cried. He raced out into the rain and, catching her by the
arm, helped her the rest of the way.

The man, one who’d come from England with Connor, released her at
once and shut the door against the blowing rain. “
Beggin
’
your pardon for grabbing you, milady,” he said quickly, bowing. “Looked like you
needed help.”

She waved aside his apology. “I thank you for it. ′Tis foul
weather to be out in.” Her brief enchantment with the beauty of the rain had
disappeared now that her feet were cold and wet and her gown liberally
spattered with water.

“Is there somethin’ wrong, to bring you here?” he asked.

Moira slipped the shirt off her head and held it at arm’s length
while she looked for somewhere to put it. Since she’d likely need it for the
trip back to the keep, she tossed it, dripping, over a rack of pikes.

She set aside her basket. “Where is the captain of the guard?” she
asked, starting up the stairs.

“Out with Lord Connor, milady.” The man followed her up the
stairs. “Cedric is taking his place tonight.”

“Is my brother Domnal up here?”

“Nay, milady. He’s with the guards in the other tower.”

An unforeseen blessing! She’d hoped he wouldn’t be, since she
didn’t know how he’d react to her presence here. Despite what he’d told her
this afternoon, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he could completely escape
the effects of Aidan’s influence.

If—or when—he reverted back to what she considered the usual
O’Neill behavior, she’d rather not have to deal with it before witnesses.

They entered the room at the top of the gatehouse. A man—Cedric,
presumably—stood at the window peering out through the half-opened shutters. He
glanced back over his shoulder at them, then spun and bowed to Moira so swiftly
he bobbled on his feet, banging into the shutter and slamming it closed.

She hoped he had better balance in battle, else he’d not last
long. Perhaps that was why he’d been left behind.

Cedric straightened. “Lady Moira! Have you come to see how Lord
Connor’s plans proceed?”

Moira barely hid her shock. Neither man seemed surprised to see
her, nor that
she’d
want to know about the defense of
the place.

Until Lord Brien’s death, which had forced her to assume command
of Gerald’s Keep, she hadn’t ever been inside the gatehouse. And it had been a
difficult adjustment for the remaining garrison to accept her involvement in
military concerns. Some of them had never accepted it, she thought, Sir Ivor
springing to mind.

But if these men expected it of her …

“Aye.” She crossed to the window and tugged open the shutter.
“Have you anything to report?” she asked, peering out into the murky darkness.

Her belly prevented her from leaning far; she could see nothing,
and rain spattered on her head. She drew back and watched as the two men
exchanged a look she couldn’t interpret. “Well? Surely something’s happened by
now.”

“I couldn’t see much, milady,” Cedric said. “Every once in a
while the clouds part and the moon breaks through, but it’s stayed dark,
mostly, since they left. Too noisy to hear much, either, with the wind and all.
But it looked to me like something must have happened, since no one’s come
back. Sir Ivor, Sir Will and the others are to wait for orders from Lord
Connor—”

“Unless somethin’ happens on this side,” the other guard
interrupted. “Then we’re to send ‘em help, if necessary. Got men ready to go,
but it doesn’t look to me like they’ll be needed,” he added, sounding
disappointed.

“We’d better keep a close watch, then.” Moira glanced out the
window again, motioning for Cedric to join her there. “You’ll need to know if ′tis
time to send out the others.”

She hoped he would, since she didn’t want to display her
ignorance, nor ruin Connor’s plan by making a wrong decision.

The guard who had let her in went downstairs to his post, leaving
Moira and Cedric to keep watch. Cedric extinguished the lanterns in the room
save for the one at the head of the stairs, which he turned away. “Don’t want
to show ourselves in the window,” he told her. “Besides, we’ll be able to see
better without ‘em.”

Once she’d stared out into the darkness for a time, she could see
more clearly. She noticed a sudden burst of motion near where the curtain wall
curved away, not having realized the dark mass there was men until they moved.
“Cedric,” she whispered, nudging his arm and pointing. “What are they doing?”

“Going back to join Lord Connor, most like,” he said. Squinting,
he leaned out into the rain. Just as she thought she’d have to grab him by the
belt to keep him from falling, he popped back in. “I’d better go tell Jean to
make certain the men are ready to go,” he said, shaking his head like a dog and
spraying water everywhere.

Grimacing, Moira stepped away from him. “What’s happened?” she
asked urgently. She looked out again.

The moon showed through the clouds suddenly, exposing a small
group of men huddled against the wall. “What if the MacCarthys come while Sir
Ivor and the others are gone?” she asked, unable to keep her growing sense of
urgency out of her voice. “There aren’t enough men there to guard the gate. And
what about those who are supposed to guard the tunnel?” she asked. She
straightened and moved back from the window. “If something is happening,
perhaps we should send more men to the undercroft, as well.”

Would these men obey her orders?
she
wondered. She could only try, see how they reacted. “How many men are waiting
below?”

“Twenty, milady,” Cedric said. “Most of them aren’t soldiers,
though, just men who can handle a pike and look fierce.”

That would be useful in the dark, Moira thought wryly. Still,
mayhap there’d be strength in numbers. “Tell Jean to send out half the men as
reinforcements,” she told him. “And tell the others to remain near the entrance
to the undercroft, in case they’re needed there.”

“Aye, milady,” he replied with nary a bit of hesitation.

He raced down the stairs, leaving Moira to her solitary vigil.
She didn’t understand why these men had obeyed her so readily, but she was
grateful for it.

Grateful, too, that Connor had left Cedric, and not a member of
her garrison, in charge of the gatehouse. Despite the months she’d been in
command, she doubted her men would follow her orders now that Connor was here.

A quiet creak from below told her the door beside the huge gate
had opened, and soon she saw men slipping along the narrow verge at the base of
the wall.

Cedric ran back up the stairs, his face alight with excitement. “Jean
says that the guards Lord Connor posted near where the tunnels are—in the
undercroft—thought they heard the sappers getting ready to collapse the
tunnels. Our men are going to see if they can roust them out before they get a
chance to do it.”

“Is that what Lord Connor wanted?”

“I don’t know, milady,” he said. “But we cannot let them go that
far, can we? Even if we stop the Irishmen now, who’s to say they won’t be back
once the wall’s down?” He came to the window and gazed out, then turned to face
her, his expression worried. “I’ve seen it before, milady. We cannot let that
happen here.”

She understood what he was saying, but if Connor had not ordered
it …

Uncertain, she returned her attention outside. Despite the moon’s
glow there was little to see, but she thought she could hear something.
“Listen, Cedric!”

They opened the shutters wide and Cedric hung out over the edge
as he had before. “I hear battle cries, milady!” He wriggled in. “They’re fighting.”

Moira’s stomach clenched with fear, and the babe began to kick
and squirm, perhaps in reaction to her tension. Taking several deep breaths,
she willed herself to be calm and consider what they should do.

“If we can hear the battle, so might the men in the tunnel, yes?”
she asked.

“I can’t say for certain, but they might, milady.”

′Twas clear to her now what they must do. “Tell Jean to
send word to our men to capture the sappers. This could be a diversion so that
they can fire the tunnels.”

“At once, milady,” Cedric replied, already at the head of the
stairs.

The sounds carried on the wind had intensified. Moira stroked her
stomach to soothe the babe—and distract herself—and tried not to imagine what
could be happening to Connor and the others.

What if the MacCarthys had arrived in force? Or if they’d lain in
wait for the castle garrison to venture outside the walls? They might have been
gathered out there every night for some time, waiting for a chance to attack. ′Twas
entirely possible that Domnal didn’t know all of Hugh’s plans.

Of course, if that were the case, they probably wouldn’t have
expected a force of the size and skill that Gerald’s Keep possessed since
Connor’s arrival.

Nay, she reminded herself, the MacCarthys knew the FitzCliffords
had sent reinforcements. Aidan had said as much the night he’d come, and he’d
also had the opportunity to gauge the size of their garrison, since he’d stood
in the hall and seen how much larger their company had become.

By the Virgin, they should never have allowed Aidan into Gerald’s
Keep …

Or having made that mistake, they assuredly shouldn’t have
permitted him to leave, carrying information to his ally.

To her enemy.

She watched as Jean’s messenger slipped past her, lantern in
hand, and joined the others. They moved beyond her sight around the curve of
the wall, and all she could do was wait.

The sounds of battle faded away, and the clouds thickened again,
obscuring the moon and draping the night in darkness.

Moira stood there and prayed, hoping that a sinner’s prayers had
some value in God’s eyes if ′twas a just cause she prayed for.

Eyes closed, she repeated a paternoster and crossed herself. She
thought she heard voices carried on the wind and opened her eyes.

Out of the night shone a lantern, then another, lighting the way
for the men who approached, walking single file along the narrow band of earth
between the base of the wall and the moat.

Praise the Virgin, they’d survived! She reached up to close the
shutters, intending to meet them in the bailey.

She saw Connor then, at the end of the line of men. He paused
just below her and glanced up. His face, pale and grim in the flickering light,
became positively glacial when he spotted her. Silent and stern, he took a
lantern from the man standing outside the door and disappeared into the
building.

Heart racing, Moira stepped back from the window and headed for
the stairs, bracing her hand on the wall for support.

Men crowded the guardroom, and she paused at the foot of the
stairs. She couldn’t see Connor in the crush of large, armed warriors, and she
didn’t dare venture among them. She moved up a step, hoping she’d be able to
see better from the higher perch.

Suddenly the men fell silent, and a path opened across the middle
of the room. She could see Connor now, though once she caught a glimpse of his
expression, she wished she’d stayed upstairs.

“By the saints, woman—what the hell do you think you’re doing
here?”

Although she was dearly tempted to run back up the stairs, Moira
held her ground and raised her head high as Connor crossed the guardroom and
halted in front of her. Because she stood two steps above the floor, she had a
clear view of him. His hair hung, dripping wet, to his shoulders, and fine
beads of moisture clung to his skin. A flush of color rode his cheekbones, and
the scar on his cheek shone stark white in contrast. His eyes glowed with
anger. She could not meet that intent stare for long. She lowered her gaze,
gasping at what she saw.

A dark stain ran the length of his right arm, the blood
glistening bright against the dull iron of his mail sleeve and smeared along
the side of his green surcoat.

She descended the last two steps and reached for his right hand.
It was icy, damp with rain and blood. “My lord, let me take care of this.”

He shrugged free of her loose hold. “I asked you a question,
milady.” His voice sounded calmer now, but ′twas as cold as the
expression on his face.

She realized no one had moved nor said a word since Connor had
spoken. Glancing past him, she saw that they were the focus of everyone’s
attention.

She spied Dermot’s cousin standing behind Sir Ivor, watching them
with mocking intensity. Raising her chin, she met him stare for stare and
ignored his leering smile.

Anger fired her blood. Did Connor think to take her to task here,
in full view of their men?

In view of a MacCarthy?

How dare he?

She stepped past him into the middle of the room. Connor swung
around to keep her in view. “I’ll answer your question when I’m ready, milord,
and I tell you now,
it
will not be here.” She tossed
her hair back over her shoulder. “Nor before witnesses.”

A murmur of laughter filled the room, bringing a surge of color
to her cheeks. Connor’s expression changed, shifting from angry to thoughtful,
curious.

Had she confused him?

She hoped so! No more of the tearful widow, she vowed. ′Twas
past time she showed Connor FitzClifford the strong woman she wanted to be.

Starting now.

She cast a sweeping glance around the room. “I wouldn’t dream of
taking you away from your duties.” Dropping into a respectful curtsy, she
added, “Perhaps you’ll join me afterward to tell me how we fared.”

Connor bowed. “Perhaps I shall,” he said, one eyebrow quirked
upward—a taunt, she decided.

Or a challenge?

She traversed the path that had opened for her and paused by the
door. As soon as Jean opened it for her she nodded to the room at large and
swept out—before her courage escaped her completely.

Connor watched Moira leave, wondering as she made her impressive
exit if she’d forgotten that the weather was miserable and she hadn’t so much
as a cloak to protect her from it. He nearly chased after her, but hadn’t the
heart to spoil her accomplishment.

After he’d been such a fool.

He deserved every bit of her scorn for the way he’d spoken to
her, he thought as he set about questioning his men. Once he realized that
she’d been up in the gatehouse tower during the attack—that she’d been actively
involved in commanding some of the garrison—his heart had clenched with fear
for her.

Now that his temper had eased and the surge of battle lust flown
from him, he regretted snarling at her—especially before their men. She’d been
as safe there as anywhere else within the castle, and he’d been wrong to chide
her as he had.

As the men reported what they’d seen and done during the battle,
he knew Moira’s decision to send more men to help both inside and outside the
castle had been wise. The sappers could have easily fired the tunnel while the
battle raged, or fled to the cliffs. Connor had left her reinforcements outside
on patrol, lest the MacCarthys return.

They’d been lucky that Domnal had come to them and shown him what
MacCarthy planned. Gerald’s
Keep
remained intact and
in their hands.

And he had a MacCarthy as hostage.

Connor ordered Sir Ivor—with Will’s help, in case d’Athée
experienced a sudden return of his earlier behavior—to lock up their prisoners
in the vaulted cells below the great hall. Placed under heavy guard, the
Irishmen could stew there for a bit. Perhaps ′twould make them more
amenable to talk—or to compromise.

His duties to his men carried out, Connor found the time had come
for him to seek out Moira. Anticipation sang in his blood, sharp and
tantalizing. Though he regretted what he’d said to her in the gatehouse, he
couldn’t be sorry for her reaction.

Her beauty could not be denied, no matter what her mood, but as
she’d been tonight—blue eyes flashing, her posture straight and proud—she’d
been magnificent.

The hour was late—past midnight, he’d guess. Far too late to pay
a visit to a lady. But she’d said she wanted to see him, and far be it from him
to refuse a beautiful woman, he thought with a smile.

He passed through the hall, silent but for the occasional snores
and coughs of the servants sleeping there. He ran lightly up the stairs and
rapped on the door to her solar.

There was no answer. Either she’d fallen asleep while waiting for
him, or she hadn’t waited for him at all, but had sought her bed straightaway.

He eased open the door, his gaze sweeping the room. The one
candle gave light enough to show that she wasn’t there.

Taking care to be quiet, he crossed the floor and nudged open the
unlatched door to her bedchamber. The only illumination came from the
low-burning fire in the hearth, but he could see that the bed was empty.
“Moira?” he said softly, but heard no reply.

Where could she be?
he
wondered as he
stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him. By the saints, ′twas
the middle of the night—where else should she be but in her bed?

He crept past the sleeping servants once more and left the hall,
pausing at the top of the outside stairs. The rain had stopped while he’d been
in the guardhouse, and the sky had cleared in the short time he’d been in the
keep itself.

Will came out of the gatehouse and headed for the door to the
barracks built against the wall opposite the keep. Connor hurried down the
steps to catch up with him.

“Milord,” Will called quietly. He stopped in the middle of the
bailey and waited for Connor. “I thought you’d have retired by now.”

Connor shook his head. “I went looking for Lady Moira, but she’s
nowhere to be found.”

“Did you look in the barracks?”

“The barracks? What would she be doing there?”

“Hiding from you among her new champions?” Will suggested with a
cheeky grin. Connor frowned. “′Tis naught but a jest, milord,” he added.
“We all know you’d never harm a woman—and I’ve no doubt the lady knows it, as
well.”

He’d just as soon ignore that topic altogether. Connor rubbed at
his right shoulder, where a dull throbbing had settled, and grimaced when the
motion jarred his injured arm. “Why would she be in the barracks?”

“She and the old woman, Brigit, went there to care for the
wounded, soon after she left the gatehouse. Though no one was hurt bad, perhaps
she’s still there.” Will nodded toward Connor’s arm, wrapped about with a scrap
of his surcoat. “Looks to me like you could use a bit of her help—if she’s
forgiven you for shouting at her,” he added with a laugh. “Otherwise, I don’t
believe I’d want her sticking a needle into me.”

“She may have at me with a needle if she wishes, after the way I
spoke to her,” Connor said ruefully. “Though I’d rather it happens without the
audience we had earlier. I suppose I should be grateful she wasn’t armed.”

They resumed walking, heading to the barracks. “Aye. No telling
what she might be capable of if she were,” Will agreed. “According to Cedric,
Lady Moira proved herself Lady Gillian’s equal tonight. ‘Commands nigh as well
as our lady,’ he said.”

“Lofty praise indeed,” Connor acknowledged, knowing how highly
the men of l’Eau Clair regarded their mistress’s ability to lead.

He mulled over Cedric’s words. “I wondered why Cedric and Jean
obeyed Moira so easily, without reservation. I didn’t stop to think that
they’re used to a woman giving them orders.”

“It’s not that Gillian orders them about, as a rule,” Will said.
“But they know that any command Sir Henry gives might well come from Gillian.”
He stopped before the door to the barracks, eyeing Connor with a measuring
gaze. “She was a fine leader, back before your brother took command of l’Eau Clair.”

“And will be so again, when my brother must be away,” Connor
said. “I found no fault with Rannulf s choice of wife, Will. Gillian is dear to
me, a woman—and wife—to be proud of. My brother is a fortunate man.”

“May you be as fortunate, milord,” Will said, his expression
serious, though his eyes were bright with humor. “You very well might be, if
you’ve the sense to recognize a prize when you see it.”

Connor frowned. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded, though
he believed he knew what
Will
meant.

“Lord Connor, you’re not a stupid man,” Will chided.

“Faint praise—”

“But if you don’t take advantage of the opportunity the good Lord
placed right beneath your nose, I might need to alter my opinion.” He jabbed
Connor with his elbow—on his left side, saints be praised. “A comely
Irishwoman, fertile—” he waggled his eyebrows “—with the courage to face down
an ill-tempered, scar-faced Norman. If you’re fool enough to let her get away
from you, milord, I just might have to try my luck with Lady Moira.”

Connor found it amazing that Will had the mettle to say to his
face what he knew others said behind his back. But far from being offended, he
respected Will all the more for his honesty.

That didn’t mean he intended to step aside, however. “I wouldn’t
if I were you,” Connor said dryly. “Besides, I’ve already asked her.”

“Milord! You sly dog.” Will grinned. “I take it she hasn’t given
you an answer yet, else we’d have heard the happy news.”

“Let’s say I’ve yet to bring her around to my way of thinking.
But I’m hopeful she’ll—” A roar of laughter sounded from inside the barracks.
Connor reached for the latch. “They’re a merry lot.”

“Been celebrating our victory, I imagine.” Will motioned for him
to go ahead. “We should be in there doing the same.”

“′Tis no place for Moira, then, if they’ve been drinking,”
Connor said, a sudden urgency filling him. They were decent men, but rough. No
telling how they might treat her once the ale flowed freely.

“Sit you down here,
Padrig,” Moira directed, pointing to the bench beside the one she occupied. She
resisted the urge to rub her lower back, for she knew if Brigit caught her at
it again, she’d nag at her to leave off stitching and bandaging the injured
men, and make her return to the keep to seek her bed.

Not that the thought didn’t hold a certain appeal … A very
strong appeal, if truth be told, for her body ached with weariness. But she
didn’t want to leave the barracks, not now that the men—hers and Connor’s—had
joined in a bond forged in the heat of battle.