L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep Page 6

  Like it or not, she’d have Connor FitzClifford as her champion.

  He turned to Will. “Tell me what else you learned today. Perhaps if we pool our information, ′twill become clear what we should do next.”

  Connor managed to avoid Lady Moira for the next few days—both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately he didn’t see her when he rose before dawn for his morning ritual, for if he’d had the slightest inkling she was anywhere near, ′twould have distracted him worse than he was already. Try though he might, he could not keep her out of his thoughts.

  But he spent that valuable time alone, settling his mind and exercising his body as best he could.

  He’d need a clear head and strong arms for what might lie ahead.

  By the time the sun cleared the horizon, Connor was ready to lead out a troop to explore the territory around Gerald’s Keep. With either d’Athée or Will in charge of the garrison he left behind—for he didn’t dare leave the castle unprotected—he set off each day to familiarize himself with the terrain and the inhabitants of the area, and to seek information about the MacCarthys.

  He and his troops would return to the castle near dusk, weary and sore. Each night Connor retreated to his chamber as soon as possible after receiving a report from whichever man he’d left in charge, to rest up for more on the morrow.

  ′Twas a punishing routine. Though it didn’t keep his thoughts away from Lady Moira, at least it kept his body out of temptation’s way.

  Lady Moira’s estimate that nearly everyone who lived close to the castle either had been killed or had abandoned their home appeared correct. The chill surrounding Connor’s heart grew colder with each burned-out farm or crofter’s hut they found, with each crudely marked grave. Though the MacCarthys apparently didn’t have the strength or influence to lay siege to a castle or attack a large troop without help, they weren’t above doing everything else within their power to instill fear into people who had already suffered at their hands.

  How many had died, Connor wondered, so that the MacCarthys could drive the Normans from Gerald’s Keep?

  They would not succeed, he vowed as they rode toward a small manor set just outside the demesne of Gerald’s Keep. Sir Robert de Montfort, a minor vassal of Lord Pembroke’s, had welcomed Connor when he’d gone there the first day, and had promised to ask among his people if anyone had word of Hugh MacCarthy’s plans.

  Now, after four more days of searching and unsuccessfully seeking any word of the MacCarthys, Connor could only pray Sir Robert had news to share.

  Sir Robert’s wife led Connor and Will into the small hall and settled them near the central hearth with mugs of ale, sending a boy to bring her husband from the stables.

  “′Tis no bother for us to seek him there, mistress,” Connor told her, but she would not hear of them leaving. Once he’d answered several of her carefully phrased questions about Lady Moira, he realized why he was being grilled. ′Twas clear that concern for Lady Moira’s well-being ran high among her acquaintances, who’d seen and heard nothing of her since Lord Brien’s death.

  “Poor lady, to lose her husband so near her time,” said Sir Robert’s wife, wiping away a tear with the edge of her wimple. “And to have to raise her child alone! Lord Brien so wanted a son, you know.” She shook her head and blotted her eyes. “Such a tragedy!”

  ′Twas a relief to learn that here, among the Normans, it appeared the specifics of Lady Moira’s ordeal at the MacCarthys’ hands remained unknown. Connor had wondered if she’d be shunned or disgraced—and perhaps she might be yet, if all the details came out—but at least for now, people were concerned for her and willing to help her.

  Connor also gave silent thanks that he’d brought Will with him today, not Sir Ivor. Though d’Athée remained silent on the subject of Lady Moira these days, Connor wouldn’t have trusted him to hold his tongue in this situation.

  Sir Robert strode into the hall and joined them, casting a patient look at his wife, whose face wore stark evidence of sorrow. She wiped her hand over her quivering cheek and poured her husband a cup of ale.

  He took it from her with a murmured word of thanks. “My dear, I know you’ve duties awaiting you,” he said, his voice kind. “I’m sure Lord Connor and Sir William will understand if you leave us.”

  “Of course.” Connor stood and bowed politely. Will, who’d risen when Sir Robert entered the room, bowed as well.

  “Please convey my best wishes to Lady Moira,” she said, still sniffling as she made her way out of the hall. “I shall hope to hear soon that she’s been safely delivered of a fine, healthy child.”

  “Please excuse my wife,” Sir Robert said as they resumed their seats after she left. “We were not blessed with children, and my lady feels that lack deeply.”

  “I understand,” Connor said, though in truth, he felt confused. He’d been surprised by Sir Robert’s patience and tolerance of his wife’s behavior; this apology surprised him even more. Connor knew there were married couples who had so caring a relationship; indeed, he need only see Rannulf and Gillian together to know such solicitude existed. But he hadn’t expected strangers to show their feelings so openly in his presence.

  “Have you anything to report, Sir Robert?” he asked, impatient for news after days of finding nothing.

  “Aye, I have,” the older man replied. He leaned closer and lowered his voice, though Connor had noticed no one else in the room. “You must look to the cliffs, milord.”

  “The cliffs? The cliffs below the headland?” He couldn’t imagine anyone successfully attacking from that direction.

  “Gerald’s Keep sits atop the ruins of an ancient fortress, a fortress that was in MacCarthy hands many years ago.”

  Sir Robert started when a manservant entered the hall carrying a basket of peat for the fire. He motioned for the fellow to leave, and waited to speak until he’d set the basket on the hob, bowed and departed.

  “Sir Robert, ′twas not my intent to put you in danger,” Connor said, rising to his feet and setting his cup on a table. “But from your actions, I fear I must have done so.”

  Sir Robert stood as well and glanced about the hall yet again. “Nay, milord. Tis just that some of our servants are Irish, and I’ve no way of knowing who might be related to the MacCarthys. These people carry tales … You cannot imagine, Lord Connor, how swiftly news can travel here.”

  By the rood, did no Norman have anything good to say about the Irish? Connor bit back the words he knew he should not say to their host—despite the provocation—and sought deep inside himself for courtesy enough to hold his temper.

  For now.

  “I assume you’ve nothing further to tell me?” he asked.

  Sir Robert shook his head, then brought his ale to his lips and drank deeply. “Just look to the cliffs for the answers you seek, milord. I can tell you nothing more.”

  “Look to the cliffs?” Will said, glancing at Connor through the thickening dusk as they rode at the head of the troop. “What the hell does that mean? Are the MacCarthys goats, that they can climb up to the castle from the sea?”

  Connor shook his head and nudged his mount closer to Will’s. “From what Lady Moira says, the headland cliffs are too sheer to be scaled. Besides, even if one or two men could manage it, they couldn’t overcome an entire garrison.”

  Sir Robert’s words haunted him for the rest of the journey back to Gerald’s Keep. There must be some truth to them, else the man wouldn’t have bothered to relay the information—nor been so nervous about it.

  Perhaps there might be someone among the Irish families currently living within the castle grounds who would know what Sir Robert’s words meant.

  The torches mounted on the gatehouse sent a welcome glow through the lowering night, a far cry from the darkness that had greeted their arrival a sennight ago.

  As was the sight of the drawbridge, already dropping into place. They rode straight into the bailey and dismounted near the stables.

  A man-at-a
rms approached Connor as soon as he climbed from the saddle. “Milord.” He bowed. “Lady Moira invites you—and all your men—to join her in the hall tonight for supper,” he said. “If it please you, milord.”

  “A moment,” Connor answered. He handed the reins to a stable lad and, frowning, left the soldier and walked over to Will. The young knight stood near the stable door, talking earnestly with Cedric, one of the men they’d brought with them from l’Eau Clair.

  “Something wrong, milord?” Will asked.

  “Nay, unless you count that Lady Moira has invited us to join everyone in the hall this evening,” Connor said, removing his helm and running his hand impatiently through his hair. Dear God, but he was tired! Not that he’d any time to sleep. “I’d planned to start exploring, see if we can discover the truth of what Sir Robert told us.”

  Will nodded. “Aye, milord, ′tis important. But do you believe we could see anything at night that we haven’t noticed—so far—in daylight? And the men are tired, milord, and growing as dispirited as everyone else here, so Cedric tells me.”

  “I know. And you’re right, ′tis too dark now to start looking.” Connor frowned. “Especially when we don’t know what we’re looking for.” Resigning himself to wait until the morrow, he clapped Will on the back. “We’ve dragged the men far and wide the last few days. They deserve a bit of fun. We’ll double the guard on the headland portion of the wall, and halve the time for each watch. Everyone not on duty may join us in the hall tonight.” Seeing Cedric’s wide smile, he warned, “Be certain they stay sober enough to remain competent. I’ll not have the garrison reduced to a pack of drunkards, lest we have need of them.”

  “Aye, milord,” Cedric agreed. “Thank you!” Bowing briefly, he hurried away to spread the news.

  “Will you see to mounting the guard?” Connor asked Will.

  “Of course, milord.”

  Connor nodded his thanks. “I’ll see you in the hall then.”

  After Will left, Connor returned to the man-at-arms. “Tell your mistress that my men and I would be pleased to join her, as soon as we’ve had a chance to wash away the dust of travel.”

  After the man left, Connor sighed wearily and crossed the bailey to the stairs leading into the keep.

  As if he didn’t have enough to bewilder his tired brain, now he must find the strength within him to spend the evening in Lady Moira’s presence … without revealing to her or anyone else just how tempting he found her.

  Chapter Seven

  Moira spent the days since she spoke with Lord Connor on the headland cloistered in her solar with her maids, spinning and sewing. She had time aplenty to berate herself for telling him anything of what had brought them to this coil, and to try—without success—to convince herself that he held the power to carry them through their troubles to a happy resolution.

  There was no way out of this without more pain, more sorrow. When had life held aught else?

  But never had she felt more powerless than she did at this moment.

  She paused at the head of the stairs and listened to the hum of noise rising from the hall. ′Twas louder than usual—not surprising, given that their numbers had nearly doubled with the addition of the men Lord Connor brought—but the sounds seemed more cheerful, as well. The reinforcements had given back to her people the sense of hope they’d lacked since Lord Brien’s death. Tonight they’d have the opportunity to celebrate that fact.

  They’d kept hope alive throughout the first few months of Lord Brien’s illness, for hadn’t he vanquished a much younger foe? ′Twas surely a sign that God smiled upon them, or so Father Thomas told them.

  Though Moira had done all she could to save her husband, and had prayed as long and solemnly as anyone, deep within her heart she couldn’t stifle her fear that all their prayers and hope would not prevail. Guilt nagged at her—guilt that her sins were so much worse than anyone knew.

  She had not dared confess the depth of them even to Father Thomas, for what if he should turn against her? She knew ′twas God’s forgiveness she needed, not the priest’s, but she feared to lose the gentle cleric’s support when she—when they all—needed it most.

  ′Twas sheer cowardice on her part, she knew. Though it was yet another sin to stain her soul, her pride was all she had left to sustain her.

  But every word of comfort offered to her twisted the blade of guilt deeper into her heart, until she wondered if there was penance enough in all the world to atone for everything she’d done.

  A door opened on the floor above her, and the sound of voices—Lord Connor’s and another man’s—carried down the stairwell to her, bringing her useless, maundering thoughts to a blessed end. She tugged at the loose folds of her gown to straighten it, and realized as she was about to turn to greet them that her cheeks were wet with tears.

  She’d never cried so much in her life as she had the last few months! She used the trailing end of her linen veil to blot her face before they reached her, though ′twas likely they’d still know she’d been crying. ′Twas the babe that made her weep, Brigit claimed, a convenient excuse for the fact that Moira had turned into a sniveling coward.

  And a nervous fool. She drew in a deep breath. What did it matter that she’d not seen Lord Connor in days? He’d been in her thoughts often during that time—too often.

  Both men had dressed more formally than usual, as had she, in keeping with the spirit of celebration. Lord Connor’s dark green tunic fit him well, the soft wool outlining his muscular shoulders and arms and causing a strange warmth to fill her. Though it appeared he’d bathed, for his hair was still damp, he hadn’t shaved. The shadowy whiskers covering his jaw, coupled with the scar on his cheek, lent him a dangerous air she found all too appealing. With her heart pounding wildly, she lowered her gaze.

  Enough of that, she berated herself, and forced herself to face them. “Lord Connor, Sir William,” she said, her curtsy awkward, but as proper as she could manage.

  Lord Connor steadied her with his hand beneath her elbow, though her reaction to his touch nearly sent her reeling again. “Milady, you need not be so formal.” He led her deeper into the hallway, released her and bowed. “′Tis not necessary on my account, nor would I have you tumble down the stairs.”

  Sir William bowed as well. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Sir William,’ milady. I’ll think you’re talking to someone else,” he added, chuckling. “ ‘Will’ is fine with me.”

  “But you must have worked hard to earn your spurs, Sir Will,” she said, smiling in response. “There’s much that’s different between Irish and Norman, but proving yourself a worthy fighter remains the same. Once my brothers achieved that status, they’d not permit anyone to forget it.”

  “Nor should Will,” Lord Connor said. “He’s proved his worth as a warrior many times in service to Lady Gillian, my sister by marriage, and to my brother since Rannulf and Gillian wed. ′Tis a measure of his ability that Rannulf sent him here with me.”

  “Don’t let him deceive you, milady,” Sir Will said. “′Tis only that I’ve known Lady Gillian since she was a child—fought with her then and since.” He laughed. “Fought with her and for her, I should say.”

  His words brought a strange vision to Moira’s mind, of a warrior woman clad in armor and armed with a sword and shield. That could not be the case with Lady Gillian, but Moira would have to wait to question Sir Will further, for the gong sounded, calling them to dinner.

  Lord Connor held out his hand to her. “May I escort you, Lady Moira?”

  Surprised by his gallantry, she was nonetheless pleased to accept his assistance. “Thank you, milord.” She placed one hand atop his and gathered up her skirts with the other, then glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “You do realize, if I trip, my weight would carry us both to the bottom,” she warned, unable to resist teasing him. “Perhaps you ought to send Sir Will ahead of us, in case I start us rolling down the stairs.”

  Lord Connor appeared as startled by
her words as she was that she’d said them. His brown eyes intent, he scanned her face, lingering on her eyes for a moment, before gifting her with a slow smile. “I trust you’ll not drag me down apurpose.”

  His words could be taken in more ways than one, and the meaning that filled her mind drove away the sense of playfulness that had so briefly washed over her. She lowered her gaze. “Nay, milord, I will not,” she said, her voice flat.

  Unaware of her change of mood, Sir Will raced lightly down the stairs and waited for them at the bottom. “Come along,” he called. “If you don’t hurry, I’ll go on without you.”

  She took a step toward the stairs, only to be brought up short by Lord Connor’s hold on her hand. He tightened his clasp on her fingers and moved closer. “What troubles you, milady?”

  “′Tis nothing,” she murmured. “They’ll be waiting for us in the hall—we must go.”

  He leaned down, making her aware of his size, his strength, though not in a threatening manner. “I wish you would tell me. But perhaps ′tis too soon,” he added, so quietly she barely heard him.

  “There’s naught more to tell,” she replied.

  He stared deep into her eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “I wonder.”

  Straightening, he eased his clasp on her hand and led her down the stairs, matching his steps to her slow ones. They entered the hall and were immediately surrounded by revelry.

  More torches than usual lit the huge chamber, casting a flickering golden glow over the room. ′Twas easy to see that the people of Gerald’s Keep had been glad of this opportunity to celebrate. Folks laughed and smiled, many of the women had livened their garb and hair with bright ribbons, and some of the men appeared cleaner than usual.

  It seemed they’d welcomed Lord Connor’s men into their midst already. Life at Gerald’s Keep had been dark and solemn for months, and ′twas clear everyone needed a respite from those days.

  Moira returned smiles and happy words of greeting, as Lord Connor led her across the long room to the table set upon the dais at the far end. Her heart swelled with gladness to see her people’s joy.