Meghan looked back at him in amazement. “I did not think ’twas lawful for Englishmen to speak Gaelic.”
“The Butlers are the Butlers, lass, nae more and nae less,” Piers continued in Gaelic. “Did ye think to frighten us with that wee mark? We’re nae such cowards as that. Revelin tells me ye think yerself a changeling.” His eyes lowered with pointed interest to her figure. “Seeing ye, ’tis nae wonder the lad’s beguiled, but I’ll own ye did so with earthly charms. Mayhaps I should be persuaded to test these charms meself.”
The gentleman who accompanied Piers had paused to speak with the leader of the party from Dublin, but Piers’s last statement snared his attention. He came toward them with a frown of disapproval on his face. “Enough, Piers. You’ll make the lass gallop back to Dublin in fear for her virtue.” He turned to Meghan and she found herself staring up into green eyes quite like Revelin’s. “Sir Edmund Butler, at your service, mistress.”
Of much the same coloring as his brother Piers, he was taller and slighter of build. Where Piers’s apparel was stretched over his frame, Edmund’s rich attire clothed a courtier’s lithe body. This time Meghan remembered her curtsy, which she executed with more grace than she felt. “My lord,” she murmured.
“Not ‘my lord,’ child; ‘Sir Edmund’ will serve.” He turned to Robin and held out his hand. “Sir Robin, ’tis been some while.”
“Two years,” Robin supplied.
Edmund inclined his head, then turned to his brother. “Show them in, Piers, before they drop in their tracks. I’ve a meeting at the town gates. I will be back in time for supper.”
Meghan watched him mount a horse brought by a groom, then her gaze moved south to where the plume of smoke had flattened out against the darkening sky. She knew that his business must have something to do with the trouble there.
“’Tis that damn fool West Country squire!” Piers exclaimed in disgust.
“Not Peter Carew?” Robin questioned in disbelief.
“The same. If he thinks a bit of parched earth will frighten the Butlers, then he’s campaigned too long in heathen lands.” Piers’s dark eyes flashed as he looked at Meghan. “We Butlers love nothing so much as a challenge.”
“You don’t think he’ll march on Kilkenny?” Robin pressed, disconcerted by this news. Sir Sidney had said nothing of looting and burning.
“He will not, if he knows what’s good for him.” Piers shot a glance over his shoulder. “Edmund thinks ’tis wise to take his troops out to meet Carew, but I’ve a mind the walls of Kilkenny will prove too much for the usurper.”
Meghan cast a critical eye at the castle walls and agreed that they were stout protection against any enemy. When Piers offered her his arm, she slipped her hand onto it and followed him.
* * *
“Fie on Edmund for his nervous stomach!” Piers had exchanged his black-and-gold jerkin for one of deep wine red encrusted with jewels at the neckline; but as he prowled back and forth before the huge fire in the great hall, he reminded Meghan of a fancy-dressed boar, dangerous and untamed. Dinner had not improved his spirits, and the after-dinner brandy in his goblet did not seem to be helping matters. “God rot the devil who dares to set foot on Butler land!”
“Piers, please, you’ll frighten our guests,” Lady Mary Butler chided softly, her small, childlike voice a reflection of herself. She was taller than Meghan but as slender as a young girl, gowned in gold cloth and with an elaborate headdress of gold filigree and pearls. Golden hair framed her heart-shaped face with its sky-blue eyes and a small, thin-lipped mouth of pale rose.
Meghan looked from the husband to the wife and wondered what two people who were opposites in size, coloring, and temperament could have in common. For herself, she was a little afraid of the brusque man.
Piers paused before his wife’s chair and patted her pale cheek affectionately. “Forgive me, wife. Edmund and I had words before supper which have left me ill tempered.”
Robin, who sat on a settee nearby, crossed his elegantly clad leg over the other and adjusted the silk bow of his ribbon garter. “’Twould seem we have arrived at a bad time, Sir Piers. We were not given warning of the troubles in Kilkenny.”
Piers snorted, avoiding his wife’s look of disapproval at the crudity. “There’s been nothing to tell.” He winked at his wife. “I wouldn’t be privy to how it began. A few cows reived by some rascally Englishmen, and wouldn’t you know our lads would have them back again.”
“I see,” Robin commented quietly. “And then, of course, a few acres of corn are burned, pure mischief, and then a barn, a church, a small loss of life among the peasants.”
“Aye, ’tis so,” Piers answered, but his eyes had taken on a new light as he regarded Sir Robin. “What think you of our land, Sir Robin?”
“I find the countryside most diverting,” Robin answered agreeably, “and the company exceptionally fine.”
“Does Revelin know how exceptionally fine you find Mistress Meghan?”
Caught staring at Meghan, Robin could only laugh and give in graciously. “No doubt he would take exception to my interest; but, alas for poor Revelin, he is not present to learn of my unrequited tendre.”
Meghan held still under Piers’s dissecting gaze, but she wished that she had not left Ualter in Dublin. He was not her pet, that was true, and Revelin would certainly expect him to be in Dublin when he returned; but she missed his massive shaggy presence at her feet when Piers looked as though he would like to swallow her in one gulp.
Robin saw Meghan’s discomfort and wondered that Piers’s wife had not called her husband’s attention away. Then he saw that she was bent over a knot in the thread she was weaving into her tapestry and knew it was up to him to capture Piers’s attention. “Has Sir Edmund gone out to—ah—converse with Carew?”
Piers chuckled, not looking away from Meghan. “He has, in a manner of speaking. Carew understands nothing so much as a blow on the nose with a sharp stick.”
“A battle!”
The distress in Robin’s voice succeeded in claiming Piers’s full attention. “You’re not the squeamish sort? The lads go out to trade a few blows, ’tis all. I’m told Carew was once something of a soldier. They say at his castle in Idrone he has tiny soldiers with which to play at games of war. He is without the imagination to use the chessboard to sharpen his skills.”
“If it is only a sporting game, why has Edmund taken most of the castle’s soldiers with him?”
Piers’s black brows bristled like the hairs on a boar’s back. “Did he now? And you were counting?”
Robin shrugged elegantly. “My bedroom window faces the south gate. I was fascinated by the parade.”
“A sad choice of rooms for you,” Piers remarked, “seeing how the racket disturbed ye.”
“Not at all.” Robin smiled boyishly. “As a courtier only, I was impressed by the armed brigade.”
“So you’re nae a soldier, Sir Robin? I’m curious that you’d come to Ireland at all. ’Tis believed by some that the English send only spies and soldiers to Irish soil.”
“Piers!” his wife cried shrilly.
Piers gave her a loving smile but his dark eyes said
Shut up, sweet wife.
“Will you answer that, Sir Robin?”
“Do I have a choice?” Robin tossed back lightly. He saw the beginnings of a frown crease Meghan’s brow, and the notion that she was worried about his welfare made his heart pound pleasantly. “I came to Ireland at the queen’s request. You know that Revelin was to sketch the North Country for the queen’s pleasure. I was sent along to bring a little harmony to the group.”
“What of the others who accompanied you?”
Lady Mary rose. “Really, Piers, you press our guests too hard. I will not permit it any longer. Mistress O’Neill, you will kindly follow me. If the gentlemen should prefer to cross blades, you and I need not listen.”
Meghan rose reluctantly, a silent plea in her eyes for Robin’s guidance.
“You must be tired after our journey,” Robin suggested, hoping that Lady Mary’s hospitality was not a Butler ploy to divide and conquer them. “I’m certain our hosts will understand if you seek your bed instead of our company.”
“We would indeed,” Lady Mary concurred. “You do not look especially well to me, Mistress O’Neill. You hardly touched your meal, and you are much too pale after being so flushed when you arrived. A warm quiet bed should do wonders.” As
she talked she led Meghan to the doorway. With a last admonition to her husband, “Be kind to Sir Robin or I shall have to resort to my own methods,” she swept the pair of them out of the long hall.
Robin bowed with a smile as the door closed, then turned abruptly to Piers with a piercing look. “Is the castle left entirely unguarded?”
Piers shrugged. “Your concern for our welfare surprises me.”
Robin smiled. “’Tis in part concern for my own welfare, since I now reside within these walls.”
Piers chuckled. “Revelin said I would like you, and I do, though you are more English than ’tis to my liking.”
“That makes us even.”
This time Piers roared his approval. “Come, have another brandy and tell me why you’ve traveled this great distance for naught.”
Robin smiled. “Is it for naught to help a friend in need?”
“Is that what she is?”
“What else?”
Piers grinned. “Revelin told me she bore a mark that had the men of Ulster up in arms and that the wee lass herself believes she has visions that foresee the future.”
“Revelin told you a great deal,” Robin observed.
“Aye, that he did. We’re family, and the lass is in need of a home. Her mark doesn’t revolt you, Sir Robin?”
“No,” Robin said quietly. “I now find nothing but beauty and sweetness in Mistress O’Neill’s appearance.”
“So, too, do I!” Piers poured more brandy into Robin’s goblet. “But you and I are not too proud to admit that there’s a certain streak of fear that runs in all of us when we see the work of God marred by Satan’s hand.”
“Really, is that not a strong word for an accident of birth?”
“Is it that? Revelin said she frightened Turlough O’Neill half out of his wits with her visions.”
Robin frowned. He had been unable to learn exactly what
had happened the night Meghan saved his life, but he doubted that the superstitious prattling of the O’Neill chieftain had rational basis. “Mistress O’Neill saved my life. If it was by witchcraft, fairy magic, or Satan’s left hand, I will be forever grateful to her.”
“And defend her against all attack. Very commendable,” Piers finished for him. “Well, ’tis only a bit of advice I give to you, for if you know Revelin, you know the Butler temper. The lad thinks himself in love with the lass, and she, well, I saw her smile at dinner when his name was mentioned.”
Robin understood perfectly. Meghan was now under Butler protection and he was to keep his feelings for her to himself. “I’d give my life to aid her in any cause she chose.”
Piers nodded. “Good. Now tell me what threats and warnings Sir Sidney has sent with you. Do not look so amazed, lad. Were I Sidney, I’d be sending more than a beribboned courtier to Kilkenny.”
“Will it come to war?” Robin asked, not dismayed by the change of topic.
“It should not! Unless Carew’s twice as great a fool as he makes himself appear.”
“And if it does, is Kilkenny safe?”
Piers nodded. “As safe as a babe at his mother’s tit.”
Robin smiled. “Then let’s discuss Sir Sidney.”
*
At dawn a gray-white mist off the river Nore threaded its path through the streets of the town. The silence of the early-morning hours courted sleep, but Meghan lay awake in her bed listening with half an ear to the muffled sounds from the courtyard below as the servants of the castle prepared for a new day.
I carry Revelin’s child within me!
It was miraculous, incredible, wonderful! Would Revelin be pleased? She had never thought to ask him if he liked children. Would he still want her with him? Would the child
be a boy or a girl? Would the child be beautiful like his father or…
Meghan shut her eyes. Would the child be cursed with her mark? That fear had awakened her before the sky had lightened, and she was no nearer an answer now, hours later.
If the child bore the same mark as she would Revelin accept it as his own or send it away as her father had? Or, if he kept the child, would he ever after look at her with wariness in his eyes? Revelin was the only person who had looked upon her from the first without fear or revulsion or dislike. That might change if she bore him a son whom the world would look at askance. If that happened, what would she do?
The clamor in the distance grew, and gradually Meghan came to realize that the noise came not from the castle courtyard but from the town.
She sat up in bed as a cry echoed up from the courtyard. Immediately she heard footsteps on the circular staircase that led to the tower room in which she slept. Dragging a blanket from the bed and winding it about her, she was halfway to the door when it burst open. Robin stood there, his hair on end and his shirt unlaced as if he had dressed in a hurry.
“Dress quickly! Kilkenny’s under attack! Carew’s men have broached the town gates!” He looked about the room and then nodded to himself. “It will serve. Stay here. Barricade the door and do not come out until you hear my voice on the other side. Promise me!”