Wild Roses (7 page)

Chapter 6

It wasn't the bright sunlight pouring into the room
that awakened Maire, but the smell of food.

Bleary-eyed, she stared in confusion at the young
serving maid placing a pewter tray on a table pulled near the bed . . .

Bed! Recognition flooding her, Maire's gaze darted from
the vermilion canopy overhead to the servant, more a girl truly, all freckles
and gawky limbs, who studied her for a moment with open curiosity before
turning to leave.

"No, wait!" Raising herself on her elbows,
Maire glanced nervously at the closed door leading to the adjoining room, the
girl's wide blue eyes following hers. "The lord of this place—"

"Longford Castle, miss."

A castle. Taking in the somber granite walls as if
seeing them for the first time, Maire had heard of such massive dwellings from
Ronan, and her spirits sank. Impenetrable. Accursed fortresses. So they had
been described. Ronan grimly called them, too, the
devil's
own blight upon Irish land. How, then, would she ever escape—

"You asked after Lord FitzWilliam, miss?"

Almost forgetting that she wasn't alone, Maire was not
surprised that the serving girl was as Irish as the usurped soil upon which
Longford Castle stood. She imagined most of the servants were native-born.
Slaves? Freemen? Her mind overrun with a thousand questions, she nodded.
"Aye, the lord. Does he sleep still?"

"At midday?" As if Maire had asked whether
the moon was made of ewe's cheese, the serving girl looked at her oddly.
"Lord FitzWilliam's about his business, aye, and well I should be back to
mine in the kitchen. Enjoy your meal, miss."

Before Maire could utter a word the serving girl was
halfway to the door, only glancing back once to say something about hot water
soon to be brought for a bath before she disappeared into the outer room. It
was then that Maire noticed a large wooden tub with a stool at its center set
before the hearth, which blazed with a freshly stoked fire, amazement filling
her at the amenities being provided for her.

She was a captive, wasn't she? Yet all the startling
things that Duncan FitzWilliam had said last night suddenly came flooding back
to her, about wanting to help her, about returning her to her family and home—
Oh, God, Ronan.

Her heart pounding, Maire sank back upon the pillow to
stare blindly at the bright red canopy.

The Norman had said, too, he wanted to hang her
brother. He knew of the notorious rebel chieftain Black O'Byrne. Had Ronan and
her clansmen raided upon his land, then? Stolen his cattle? Burned his fields?
It must be
so,
given the harshness she'd heard in
Duncan's voice. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, if he should discover that she was
Ronan O'Byrne's own sister . . .

Her stomach growling noisily jarred Maire from her
stricken thoughts, the hollow ache more painful than the tender bump on her
head. Feeling almost a traitor for wanting to partake of food provided to her
by a Norman, she nonetheless drew the tray toward her, deciding it was better
she eat.

If she was to escape from this unholy place, she would
need her strength and wits about her. She had no idea if Longford Castle lay in
Leinster or farther north in Ulster, yet it must be Leinster, surely. According
to what she'd heard last night, it had taken less than a day's ride from the
Wicklow meadow where her clansmen had been slaughtered for Duncan's sister
Adele and her entourage to have arrived here the same evening. God help her,
just thinking of that woman's laughter . . .

Sickened by horrible memories, Maire had to force
herself to bite into a slab of white wheaten bread topped with a thin slice of
roasted mutton; it was all she could do to swallow as she made herself think
only of the dilemma at hand. Yet tasting food for the first time since leaving
the MacMurrough stronghold in Ferns, well-prepared food at that, her hunger
soon overcame her, and she made short work of the bread and a delicious apple
tart studded with sugared almonds and raisins, which she washed down with a cup
of watered wine.

She hadn't savored a like confection since Ronan's
hapless cook, Seamus, who had long toiled as a slave in Norman kitchens before
being rescued during a raid, died so suddenly two years ago, God rest him. Poor
Triona! The cook's demise hadn't been her fault, but Ronan had blamed her
nonetheless . . .

Maire dropped the last morsel of tart forgotten upon
the tray, her anxiety mounting as she thought again of her family. And Niall,
dear God, what of him? Adele had told Duncan of attacking eight Irishmen, so
Niall had surely made it safely home to Glenmalure. Yet he still knew nothing
of Caitlin. What if he should ride to Ferns thinking to see his MacMurrough
bride-to-be only to discover she had married another?

Beset with panic, Maire shoved away the tray so
suddenly that it tumbled from the bed and clattered to the floor, the last of
the wine splattering the blankets. But she gave no heed, her only thought that
she must find a way out of Longford Castle for Niall's sake, for Ronan's, and
as soon as she could. Yet she'd scarcely flung aside the covers when an
outraged screech rent the air, Maire's startled gaze flying to the door.

"Aye, you black-haired witch, out of Lord
FitzWilliam's bed! Out or I'll—"

The comely young Irishwoman with flushed cheeks and
blazing green eyes didn't finish but ran to the bed, her dark brown mane flying
behind her. Maire could but gasp and scoot to the other side of the mattress
even as Flanna screamed and flung a pillow to the floor; Maire had no doubt her
attacker was the woman Duncan had mistaken her for.

"Out of that bed, didn't you hear me? That's my
place, mine and Duncan's—"

"And you can have it, truly!" Clutching to
her breasts the blanket that she had slept wrapped in all night, Maire half
fell from the bed and spun around awkwardly to face Flanna. "I want
nothing to do with your lord—had nothing to do with him. It was his sister
Adele who brought me here—"

"Half sister, aye, and a witch, too!"
Grabbing another pillow, Flanna threw it to the floor and stomped upon it,
goose feathers swirling around the hem of her bright yellow gown as tears
jumped to her eyes. "Forced me to sleep in the servingwomen's quarters,
she did, when I should have been here. Instead you a-and Duncan—"

"No, no, Lord FitzWilliam slept in the other room,
I swear it, and he didn't touch me!" Wincing inwardly at her lie, Maire
nonetheless decided it was for the best when the young woman, who appeared very
close to her own age of twenty-one years, sank onto the bed and began to weep
noisily. Stricken that she could have caused such heartache, no matter it was a
misunderstanding, Maire moved cautiously toward her. "Truly, Flanna,
please don't cry—"

"And why shouldn't I cry?" the woman
interrupted with an indignant wail, not appearing surprised at all that Maire
knew her name. "I've never eaten so well, or had such fine clothes to
wear, or slept on such a bed and now it's over!"

Staring in confusion, Maire ventured no closer when
Flanna pounded her clenched fists into the mattress and hiccuped through her
tears.

"The d-devil
take
it, I
knew this day would come, aye, t-they all warned me."

"They?"

"The servants, damned gossipy lot! Said five
mistresses had gone before me since Lord FitzWilliam came to Longford Castle,
all married out to his tenants when he grew tired of them. And now that will
happen to me because he's found another for his bed. You!"

Flanna appearing more resigned than truly angry even
though she had shouted, Maire didn't know what to say. Yet she ventured the
first thing that sprang to mind. "I thought . . . I thought you were
weeping because you love Lord Fitz—"

"Me? Love a Norman?" Looking at Maire as if
she were mad, Flanna gave a snort and swiped at her tears with the back of her
hand. "I've been bedded by the bastards since I was fourteen, aye, and
I'll not say Lord FitzWilliam hasn't been the best among them. But I'd rather
they take themselves straightaway from Eire and never return! Murdered my
parents they did, the spawn who last ruled this place, but what's a girl alone
to do? I had to eat, and none of my clansmen would look at me since I'd lain
with Normans . . ."

Flanna fell silent, her somber, faraway expression
hinting at hardship Maire could not begin to imagine. She had always been so
protected at Glenmalure, knowing of the devastation and suffering brought to
Eire by the Normans, but never feeling its brutal sting firsthand . . . at
least until yesterday. Despair overwhelming her, she sank onto the bed next to
Flanna, shaking her head.

"Saints help me, how will I ever leave this
place?"

"You want to leave?" Studying Maire almost as
incredulously, Flanna truly seemed surprised. "But they only brought you
here last night—"

"Not by my will." Maire didn't dare say more
about what had happened for Ronan's sake, but took heart at the sudden glimmer
in Flanna's eyes. "I told you I want nothing to do with your lord. If you
would help me leave Longford Castle, all would be as before, truly. And you're
far too pretty for Lord FitzWilliam to send you away; aye, I'm certain you've
nothing to fear."

Such a snort of disbelief greeted Maire's words that
she was startled, Flanna once more appearing bleakly resigned.

"Mayhap if I had the face of an angel I'd not
worry, but even one as lovely as you is no match for a ghost." Crossing
herself, Flanna rose abruptly from the bed. "If you wish to leave, you've
only to ask Duncan. He's a harsh man when vexed, no doubt of it, but fairer
than any Norman I've known."

"No, no, it's not Lord FitzWilliam but Lady Adele who
might not be pleased to see me go," Maire said hastily, not knowing how
else to explain herself. "She wants me for a maidservant—please, Flanna,
will you help me? If I could leave tonight when it's dark, none would be the
wiser."

Maire held her breath, but she felt another burst of
hope when Flanna jutted her chin, her green eyes flaring.

"Damned Norman witch. A maidservant, did you
say?"

When Maire nodded, that seemed to decide the matter as
Flanna gave a sharp nod, too.

"Aye, I'll help you, and it'll be a fine pleasure
to thwart that harpy after what she did to me last night. Yet it will be
late—"

Flanna didn't say more at the sudden commotion at the
door, the same serving girl hastening inside the room bearing a blue silk gown
and matching cloak and slippers that Maire recognized at once as hers, followed
by four other female servants toting steaming buckets of water. Yet the girl
stopped cold when she saw Flanna, her eyes widening as she glanced at Maire and
back again.

"You silly freckled goose, what are you staring
at?" Flanna demanded, fisting her hands at her waist. "I'm still Lord
FitzWilliam's mistress no matter how things may look, and you can tell as much
to the rest of that nosy lot in the kitchen—no, no, better yet, I'll tell them
myself!"

Maire watched speechless as Flanna flew from the
bedchamber as suddenly as she had come; her heart sank that she had no idea how
the young woman planned to help her leave the castle. Yet given Flanna's
defiant pronouncement, Maire doubted Duncan's mistress would fail her. All she
had to do now was
remain
calm and wait for dark.
Flanna had said it would be late—

"Miss, will you need me to stay for your
bath?"

Maire flushed warmly as the serving girl glanced at her
legs draped by the blanket; it was clear she must have heard something of last
night and imagined
her a
helpless cripple. Adele's
cruel words ringing in her ears, Maire gave a small sigh and rose from the bed,
saying with quiet dignity as she walked a few steps to prove she wouldn't
topple, "I can manage, truly."

Now the serving girl's face grew red. She lingered only
to mumble something about a seamstress having mended a small tear in the gown
and to point out that a latrine could be found in the short passageway leading
from the bedchamber to the next room, and then she was gone, the other women
hastening with their empty buckets after her.

Maire hurried too, to close the door, but glanced first
with wary curiosity into the small outer chamber. Her face grew twice as hot as
she spied a gleaming mail shirt lying on a bench, and she thought at once of
Duncan, recalling all too well the powerful span of his chest and the potently
masculine smell of him as he'd leaned close to her—

"Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, Maire O'Byrne, have you
lost your wits altogether?" she scolded herself, discomfited that she
would even harbor such memories. She closed the door firmly and went to the bed
to gather her
clothes,
the familiar things making her
heart begin to ache. She so wanted to be home in Glenmalure!

Ignoring any thought of a bath no matter how tempting
the steamy water, Maire dropped the blanket she'd worn like a shield and
dressed quickly, the soft linen camise and cool blue silk a comfort against her
skin. Eating a Norman's food was one
thing,
she had to
do so for nourishment. But she would not indulge in any needless luxuries; she
couldn't. No matter any kindnesses, Duncan FitzWilliam was her enemy, Ronan's
enemy, Eire's enemy, the blood of countless slain Irishmen, women, and children
an eternal blight upon his kind.

Chilled by the thought, Maire went to the nearest
window and looked out upon a bustling courtyard, but her gaze went at once to
the towering castle walls and a massive drawbridge flanked by mailed guards.
Her heart began to pound.

Surely Flanna didn't intend for her to leave by that
route, as Maire couldn't imagine that they wouldn't be stopped and questioned.
No, there had to be another way, or mayhap Duncan's mistress planned some
disguise—