Wild Roses Page 6

  “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—

  “A pity that hot water must go to waste. You don’t wish to bathe?”

  Chapter 7

  Maire spun around, her heart slamming in her throat as Duncan came into the room. She knew she was staring like a fool but she couldn’t help herself. The brilliant daylight added breadth and heightened proportion to a man she had thought formidable enough last night. How could he possibly seem taller or more powerfully built? Yet his shoulders were immense beneath a dark green long-sleeved tunic. Every masculine inch of Duncan FitzWilliam was as physically impressive as any man she’d ever seen, including her own brothers.

  Unconsciously her eyes swept him, from the rich mahogany of his hair to strong, sinewed legs honed from much riding, legs that were snugly accentuated by black hose and leather boots worn to the knee. And his features, so brooding to her in the evening firelight, made her think now that she had never seen a man more fiercely handsome, with his dark slashing brows and straight nose framed by cheekbones and a square jawline cut as if from granite.

  But what truly struck her were his eyes, a deep, penetrating brown, both warm and intense. Or mayhap that he was staring at her so intently too, his gaze moving over her … sweet Jesu, Mary, and Joseph!

  Flushing to her toes, Maire looked down at the floor, at her tightly clenched hands, cleared her throat, and then glanced up again to find him still studying her, no hint of emotion upon his face although his eyes only appeared warmer. With growing panic, she looked over at the tub, and he followed her gaze, which made her wonder crazily if he might imagine her bathing, as naked as last night in the bed when he had pulled her into his arms

  “If it’s not enough water, I could have the servants bring you more.”

  He might have uttered pure gibberish for how stupidly she stared at him, and she could only shake her head no, that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted not to be thinking such disturbing thoughts! She wanted to be outside the castle walls and far, far away from this place! Glancing around her desperately for some way to put more distance between herself and Duncan, Maire retreated to the bed and took refuge behind a massive corner post, peering around it warily.

  To her surprise she heard a heavy sigh, Duncan now looking at the floor and shaking his head.

  “Dammit, woman, I’ve no intention of hurting you. I only came here to see how you fared—God’s teeth, as a guest at Longford Castle, not a prisoner! Now, will you speak with me or not?”

  Maire swallowed, his tone not so angry as exasperated. He didn’t appear angry either, while here she cowered like a timid mouse behind the post. And Triona thought her courageous! Praying for even a wee bit of the plucky boldness possessed by her sister-in-law, Maire shoved a loose strand of hair from her face and ventured a step from the bed.

  “F-forgive me. Truly, you’ve been more than hospitable …”

  Maire fell silent, finding it as disconcerting to speak to a Norman as if he were merely a gracious host as that he looked at her as if relieved she bore a coherent tongue in her head. She followed his gaze to the tray lying overturned on the floor and the empty wine goblet atop the bed, shrugging apologetically. “I arose too quickly, and the tray—”

  “Actually, I was wondering about the feathers.”

  Maire reddened at the snowy goose down drifting like gossamer across the floor, not knowing if she dare mention Flanna visiting her or not …

  “My mistress has never been one to mask her feelings. I’ll speak to her—”

  “No, no, please don’t trouble yourself,” Maire blurted out, stunned that Duncan had guessed the cause of the mess. “She was angry, at first—seeing me in your bed … b-but I—” A blush racing to her scalp, she focused on the middle of Duncan’s chest, unable to meet his eyes, and forced herself to continue. “I told her nothing had happened, that you hadn’t touched me …”

  Again Maire faltered, remembering all too well the heaviness of Duncan’s hands upon her, his fingers slipping into her body, and wishing wildly in the next instant that she could forget as her heart began to thunder and a strange warmth filled her belly. Suddenly weak in the knees, she made for the refuge of the bed again and sank down upon the mattress. This time it was Duncan who roughly cleared his throat.

  “Now you must forgive me. I didn’t know … By the blood of God, I could throttle that woman!”

  He had strode to stare grimly out a window, affording to Maire a view of his broad back, as imposing as the rest of the man, when she briefly lifted her head. But she glanced down at once when he spun on his heel with a low curse and came toward her.

  “Enough, woman, I need your name. It is past time that you were escorted home.”

  Maire froze. She couldn’t look at him, feared to look at him for the panic in her eyes, her mind racing.

  Saints help her, what was she to say? She couldn’t give her name, for then Duncan would know she was an O’Byrne and she already knew what he wanted to do to Ronan. She would not be used as a pawn to capture her brother!

  “Woman, we spoke of this last night, don’t you remember? I can’t help you unless I know your clan—”

  “I-I don’t know,” Maire mumbled almost to herself, his words giving her a desperate idea. “I … I don’t remember, nothing is clear— Oh!”

  He had sunk to his haunches in front of her so suddenly and lifted her chin to meet his eyes that Maire was stunned, staring at him openmouthed.

  “What do you mean you don’t remember?”

  His tone so low and grim that she felt all breath had left her body, Maire didn’t know if she could even speak. But as he searched her eyes, her face, somehow she made herself, sharp realization hitting her that she had found the perfect way to p
rotect Ronan until she was free of Longford Castle.

  “N-nothing is clear. I recall waking last night” —she blushed furiously and gave up trying not to— “but nothing before. I don’t know what to tell you … it’s terrible, like a fog.”

  Terrible, too, was the hardening of his expression, his fury clearly mounting as he muttered another low oath and Adele’s name in the same breath. But somehow his fingers holding Maire’s chin remained gentle, though his voice had grown harsh.

  “Try to think, woman. You must! You were with your clansmen, eight of them, and there was an attack. You struck your head. Do you remember any of that at all?”

  Aye, so vividly that Maire once more felt her breath snag in her throat, and tears rushed unbidden to her eyes. Fearing he might think she did remember, she jerked her chin from his grasp and dropped her head in her hands, a sob escaping her.

  “I recall pain … it hurt so horribly, but nothing else! And I want to! I know I don’t belong here, that somewhere I’ve a home, a family—”

  “Yet you told me last night that you’ve no father. And you cried out in protest when my half sister Adele spoke of what had happened, did you not?”

  Aye, she had, Maire choking back her tears and falling so still that it seemed the silence was a charged thing between them. What was she to say now? If she’d only thought then not to utter a word! She knew he was waiting for an answer, an explanation …

  “God’s teeth, was it your own father struck down in the attack?” he said suddenly, his voice grown even more ominous. “And a chieftain I’ve no doubt from the silk of your gown. I’ve seen none finer on many a Norman lady.”

  Maire gulped, saying nothing for she couldn’t. Ronan had brought a bolt of the shimmery stuff home from a raid on a Norman merchant, seven bolts, in fact, in a rainbow of colors. She had more gowns than she could count; her brothers had always given her more lovely things than she needed… rich furnishings and hangings of painted cloth for her dwelling-house, exquisite jewels to wear, though in truth she preferred none, and more bouquets of wild roses, her favorite bloom, than could fill a dozen vases.

  “Woman, that you haven’t answered me does not bode well for the days to come. If not that you blush like a virgin, I would fear you had lost a husband yesterday as well. Damn Adele!”

  Duncan stood so abruptly that Maire gasped, as startled by his words as that he grabbed her none too gently by the shoulders and drew her up in front of him. He looked so furious that she feared he was going to shake her to discover what he sought, but she sensed, too, when his grip eased and he once more searched her face that his anger thankfully wasn’t directed at her but someone else altogether.

  “If my half sister’s senseless folly brings a battle cry of vengeance upon my house, then so I must bear it. But dammit, woman! Do you even remember your Christian name that I have a hope of making amends to your father’s clan by your safe return?”

  Maire stared into his eyes, Duncan’s gaze so strangely ravaged that she was stunned a Norman would seem stricken over the deaths of any Irishmen. She told herself she should remain silent even as she heard herself speak, something inside her making her want to give this perplexing man an answer even if it wasn’t the truth.

  “Rose … aye, at least I think. I-I’m not sure—”

  “Rose.” Relief filling him that at last he knew something of her, Duncan wasn’t surprised she bore such a name. That he’d seen few women as lovely was the sole thought that had come to mind when he had first entered the room, and she’d turned from the window in a flurry of blue silk and midnight hair, the sunshine enhancing what firelight had already promised. His gaze fell to her lips, as red as the wild roses climbing the ancient ruins at the Hill of Tara.

  And sweetly curved, he found himself thinking, now that he held her so closely to note, too, how flawless was her milk-white skin, more proof of a gentle rearing. Reminded like a jolt of her father, who must have been slain by Adele’s knights, Duncan tore his gaze from delicate features as exquisitely fashioned and met her eyes, a soft luminous gray he remembered all too clearly from last night, when he had opted to focus upon them rather than the tempting beauty of her breasts. He almost wished he wasn’t so eager to return her to her family!

  That unexpected thought made Duncan swear under his breath, and he swept her from her feet so suddenly that she cried out in alarm, stiffening in his arms.

  “You’ve nothing to fear,” he said to soothe her as he strode to the door. “I want Clement the friar to see you. He’s more gifted a healer than any man I’ve known.”

  “B-but I can walk, truly.”

  She still sounded frightened, but how could he blame her after all that had happened whether she remembered every brutal detail or not? Yet he shook his head as they left his private apartment, watching her eyes widen as she saw the circular stone steps wending downward.

  “It would task you too much. This way will be quicker.”

  She protested no further, and Duncan’s thoughts went to the damnable circumstances at hand, though holding her in his arms was proving more a distraction than he would have imagined. He did not recall bearing a woman so lithely feminine, not since Gisele …

  Duncan swore again but this time to himself, stunned that he had favorably compared any woman to his lost love. He had never done so before. Angrily he told himself that this woman with her unfortunate gait and Gisele were as different as night and day, Gisele as graceful and flawless as Rose would never be, as no woman could ever be—

  “Please, Lord FitzWilliam, you’re hurting me.”

  Realizing with some chagrin how tightly he held her, Duncan muttered an apology and loosened his grip, elated finally to reach the bottom of the stairs. Here he should have been thinking of his immediate plans, not the strange musings that had seized him!

  He ignored the servants stopping cold in their tracks to stare as he made his way through the silent great hall to an opposite tower, Duncan deciding he would send messengers to other ruling barons as far south as Wexford and north into Ulster as well, to ask if they had word of any attack on an Irish clan loyal to King John and to give them the woman’s name. That, at least, would be a place to start, and if Clement devised a potent healing brew that might aid Rose in remembering more about her family, he might yet avert an outright war. He contended already with enough accursed strife—

  “Duncan, wait, word has come from the west! Those rebels have attacked again—this time not stealing but slaughtering an entire herd of cattle, the bastards.”

  Maire grew as tense as the Norman holding her; she was grateful at least as they were approached by a grim-faced knight with reddish hair, who was nearly as tall but mayhap a few years younger than Duncan, that he wasn’t squeezing the breath from her like moments before. She could tell he wasn’t pleased at the news, his expression grown forbidding indeed. She shivered, glad again for Ronan’s sake that Duncan had accepted her ruse as his reply came low and ominous.

  “They will pay for such waste; we’ve only to capture them. Take twenty men, Gerard, that’s all I can spare. If this woman’s clan attacks Longford Castle before I know enough to return her home—”

  “Know enough?”

  Confusion in the handsome knight’s hazel eyes, Maire held her breath as Duncan nodded and glanced at her.

  “All I’ve gleaned thus far is her Christian name—Rose. She remembers little else thanks to the injury she suffered … and thanks to Adele. Have you seen anything yet of my sister or her retainers?”

  Gerard gave a derisive snort. “Still abed, I’d warrant. I saw Faustis after we spoke earlier. Poor man’s still numb over Lady Adele’s knights draining thirteen casks of wine. But one of your sister’s maidservants did come looking for me—sent to ask if I might join her for luncheon.”

  “Watch her, Gerard; don’t forget—you’ve already been warned. Adele devours men as ravenously as a glutton his meat. Your fair bride-to-be would not be well pleased.”

 
“God’s breath, man, you know I’d do nothing to grieve her. My heart is Melicent’s—and all else of me. It’s only Irish rebels I live to hunt down, damn their kind to hell.”

  The two men had been conversing so easily that Maire could sense they’d long known each other, yet she was struck by how harsh Gerard’s voice had suddenly grown. She heard Duncan sigh heavily.

  “I’ll join you when I can.” Duncan met her eyes but Maire looked away, realizing with a start that her hand was splayed upon his chest. Her face flaring hot, she balled her fingers against her waist as he added, “Just remember, Gerard, hang no one without me.”

  The knight’s only answer a darkening expression as Duncan carried her past the man, Maire felt suddenly ill and more grateful than before that she had been wise enough to keep her true identity to herself.

  Eternally grateful, too, that Flanna was coming to help her tonight. Maire’s only thought was to protect Ronan from Duncan. He didn’t stop until he had reached another spiral staircase leading up a second tower, but instead of ascending he went to a nearby door, rapping only once before stepping inside.

  “Clement!”

  Chapter 8

  Maire had to blink. The large room she and Duncan entered was dark and dusty, the overpowering yet pleasant smell of fresh and drying herbs serving somewhat to settle her stomach. Basil, camomile, sweet fennel, mint, and so many others hung from the rafters, while she could see in the flickering light of a single oil lamp that crocks and colorful glass vessels of every shape and size filled trestle tables shoved against the walls.

  “Clement, are you here?”

  “I am, Baron, but a moment, please. Just one moment …”

  The calm voice had come from an adjoining room, but Maire was distracted as Duncan set her down gently, his arm remaining firmly around her waist as if he thought she might fall.