At the Queen's Summons (29 page)

“I wonder if we have made a baby yet.”

His reaction was unexpected. Although he still held her in his arms, he seemed to withdraw ever so slightly. “I suppose we won't know that for some weeks.”

She kissed his jaw. “I used to long for a child,” she said. “I always told myself if I had a babe of my own, I would never, ever abandon him. I would love him and lavish attention on him and hold him so close to my heart that he would never fear I'd leave him.”

“Ah, Pippa.” He stroked her cheek. “And do you still feel that longing?”

“Well.” She turned over and cupped her chin in her hands. “It is not so much a longing anymore. It is an expectation.” A flush crept up her throat. “After all, we are both quite healthy, and we've been—that is, each night—”

“And day,” he reminded her.

“Aye, we have most faithfully done our duty—” She stopped and broke into peals of laughter. “You know exactly what I mean, Aidan O Donoghue, so I'll not continue that awkward speech. We will have babies, and they'll grow up strong and happy—”

She broke off again. The change in him was so subtle that she almost missed it, but she saw a somberness come over him. His eyes darkened to the color of the lake in shadow.

A chill shot through her. “Aidan?”

“Aye, beloved?”

“You don't think this can last, do you?”

He fell still and studied her for long moments. Torc Falls crashed ceaselessly into the silence that hung between them. At last he pushed himself up with the heels of his hands. “We had best be getting back.” Very tenderly, he helped her don her clothing, then put on his trews.

She sat back on her heels and clutched his hand. “It is worse for you to ignore my question, Aidan. You're frightening me.”

He sat down, facing her directly. Shirtless, his chest marked, his hair flowing back over his shoulders, he looked like a savage god, the lord of the grove, who had the power to change the seasons.

As she gazed into his deep, sad eyes, she understood at last.

“Damn you,” she whispered.

“Pippa—”

She wrenched her hands from his grip. “You've been deceiving me.
Again.”

“Ah, beloved, I—”

“You never spoke to me of your worries. And I, fool that I am, never let myself ask. You made me believe everything would be all right.”

Her tirade elicited a weary smile from him. “Is that not what a husband should do? Pippa, listen. You are so spritely and clever. Always with you I feel clumsy and inept. My heart tells me to protect you. Is that so wrong?”

“Yes. It is when something is eating away at you inside. You cannot keep things from me. When I wed you, it was to share your sorrows as well as your joys. Anything less is not fair to me. Anything less relegates me to the status of a child—an ignorant, spoiled child.”

He rested his hands atop her shoulders. “So what shall
I do, Pippa? What is it that you want to hear from me?” A tempest stormed in his eyes. “You want to share my fears, is that what you want?”

His passion took her aback. She felt a niggling of fear, but she looked him in the eye and said, “Yes.”

“I tried to explain this when you first said you wanted to marry. Our victory in reclaiming Ross Castle is only temporary. The Sassenach will return to take it back. Fortitude Browne holds me responsible for Felicity's death, and who is to say I am without guilt?”

“The woman took her own life,” Pippa said desperately.

“Because of me. That is not something I can shrug off. Nor will Constable Browne.”

“You can't be sure. Perhaps—”

“Ah, deny it, then,” he said. “You asked. You insisted on knowing.”

She turned away, feeling as if she had been struck.

He stood and finished dressing. When they were both ready, he lifted her onto her horse. By that time, all the anger had left him.

And all the magic had left the grove.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Do you see why I kept my fears in?”

She kissed him. “Aye, but you shouldn't have. This news doesn't mar my love for you. It deepens it. Can you understand that?”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Then we'll speak no more of it.”

 

One morning in early autumn, the news arrived with a cruel swiftness that took Aidan like a blow to the stomach. Donal Og arrived with the tidings.

Aidan was with Pippa in the counting office, showing
her ways to reckon the winter stores. Though she knew it not, he foresaw a day when she would have to carry on without him, and he wanted her well prepared. Each day she grew more precious to him and more beautiful to his eyes. There was an aura about her, a glow; she was like a rare jewel with the light behind it, sparkling and gorgeous to behold.

Aye, that glow. That had been missing when he had first met her. He considered it a small miracle that his love had put it there.

He went cold inside when Donal Og approached. His cousin took long, loose strides, looking ever the giant of legend, his shoulders stiff and hunched.

Aidan bent to kiss his wife and then stepped outside into the guardroom. He and Donal Og stopped and stared at one another. It was painful for Aidan to read defeat in his cousin's face.

“What news from Killarney?” he asked, bracing himself.

Donal Og leaned back against a wall. “It's not good. Fortitude Browne has slapped a heavy fine on all the cottagers. A punitive act due to the insurrection last spring. And he has banned mass for seven weeks.”

Aidan swore. “The jack-dog. Faith is the only thing those people have left.”

Donal Og glanced inside the counting office. Pippa sat at the exchequer's table, her head bent, absorbed in Aidan's ledgers and counting rods. He jerked his head toward a path that led out of the keep to the shores of the lake.

“So it gets worse,” Aidan said once they were outside.

Donal Og, the largest, strongest, most fearless man in Kerry, sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. “'Tis over, Aidan. No matter how hard we struggle, they will break us. There are too many of them.”

Aidan's heart pounded. He had never seen his cousin so full of grim fatalism. “I think you'd best start at the beginning. What do they plan?”

“To crush us like ants beneath their boots. The reinforcements have arrived. It's a fleet of eight ships, Aidan. And more soldiers marched in from the Pale.”

“Coupled with the forces of Richard de Lacey, that gives them an army at least five times the size of our own,” said Aidan.

Donal Og picked up a rock, stood and flung it so far into the lake that Aidan did not see it drop. “It's clear they want a surrender without resistance.”

Aidan stood listening to the roar of blood in his ears. His world was crumbling; he could lose Pippa. When he thought of never again hearing the sound of her laughter, seeing the morning sun on her face, holding her while she slept, he felt like a man on the verge of dying. “Surrender without resistance.” He raised grim eyes to Donal Og. “This is a bit of a change for the Sassenach, is it not?”

Donal Og nodded. “In the past they took high delight in putting the Irish to the sword. What do you suppose this new offer of mercy means?”

“I fear it's as you said. It is over. The Sassenach will come whether we fight or surrender. The dilemma now is to hope for terms that treat the people as men, not slaves.” Unbidden, an image of Richard de Lacey flashed in his mind. He was Sassenach, aye, but he possessed a core of humanity that was rare in an Englishman living in Ireland.

More hopeful than that was the news that Richard had taken an Irish wife. Shannon MacSweeney was a sturdy, stubborn woman; Aidan believed her fully capable of conquering the heart of her English husband.
He almost smiled, thinking of little Gaelic-speaking de Lacey children.

After a time, Iago found Donal Og and Aidan at the lakeshore. “There are some days,” he said dangerously, “that I am tempted to get into a curragh and strike out for the horizon.”

Aidan tried to smile. “That is quite a thought, my friend. To simply set sail and let the wind take us where it will.”

Iago winked. “I would hope for San Juan. My Serafina still waits for me.”

Donal Og snorted. “After all these years?”

Iago glared at him. “The heart does not count the years.”

“That depends on what the lady has in mind.”

“What news?” Aidan broke in impatiently.

Iago sobered. “A herald from the new English forces has arrived and waits in the hall.”

Aidan did not stay to hear more. Filled with an icy calm, he hurried back to the keep.

A lone woman waited within. He stopped and stared at her in shock. She turned to him slowly, her face as serene as that of a goddess in a Florentine painting.

“My lady.” He bowed over her extended hand. “It is an honor to welcome you.”

The Contessa Cerniglia heaved a resigned sigh. “I know this is unusual, but I wanted to be the one to tell you. Is Pippa here?”

“Aye, my wife is in the counting office.”

The contessa smiled. “Now there is news. I'd wager she is radiant.”

He glanced at the parchment scroll she held in both hands. “For now.” He led her to a chair and gave her a cup of mead.

She began to speak, and nothing she said surprised him. The English required total surrender. Whether he resisted or not, Ross Castle would fall to English hands and he would be forced to either leave or govern as an English vassal.

“So my only real choices,” he said, “are to fight back or capitulate.”

“Both will end the same,” she said with true sympathy. “And if you surrender, there will be no loss of life.”

None but my own, he thought. He said, “How can I trust the promises of the Sassenach?”

She took a long drink of her mead, then carefully set aside her goblet. “Because of the man who leads the English forces.”

“Oh? And who is that? Surely not the rouged poppet Essex?”

“No. It is the Earl of Wimberleigh, Oliver de Lacey.”

 

When Pippa was sound asleep that night, Aidan slipped away from the bed they shared. In silence, in the dark, he donned his tunic and trews, then carried his boots until he was outside. In the bailey, a wolfhound growled at him; he silenced the dog with a low, reassuring word.

He passed the cool, bleak hours the way he had passed many a troubled night. He took a boat and rowed himself to Innisfallen.

In the sanctuary of the chapel there, while the wind sang through the tall, narrow windows, he fell to his knees and tried to pray.

But instead of entreaties to the Almighty, his mind seethed with the news the contessa had brought.

Pippa still did not know, and the contessa had agreed that it was not her place to tell her. That decision, that agony, was for Aidan and Aidan alone.

The fact that Oliver de Lacey had come—and that he had brought his wife—confirmed what Aidan had suspected upon seeing the portrait of Lark. He had been waiting for the moment ever since sending them the message that their daughter lived.

Philippa de Lacey's parents had come for her.

But it was up to him to decide the terms of surrender.

Ah, surrender. Such an ordinary-sounding word. And now it encompassed his duties not only as the O Donoghue Mór, but as the husband of Lady Philippa de Lacey.

He reviewed what he and the contessa had learned. The family were of an ancient, respected line. Judging by the terms offered, Lord Oliver was more fair-minded than his peers. According to the contessa, the lord's wife was utterly beloved of all those who knew her.

“Ah, Christ.” He brought his fists crashing down on the altar rail.

“An eloquent prayer, to be sure,” said a wry voice.

Aidan stood and looked back toward the nave of the sanctuary. The gray predawn light picked out a tall, slim figure. “Don't you ever sleep, Revelin?”

“I'd not like to miss anything.”

“It's my guess that you've missed nothing.”

Revelin nodded, his long beard brushing his chest. “When I learned the name of the man leading the reinforcements, I knew he was the last missing piece to the puzzle. Have you decided what you'll do?”

Aidan glanced at the shadowy cross above the altar. He was glad he had confided in Revelin. “Almost.”

“Ask yourself this,” Revelin said. “What can the de Laceys give her that you cannot?”

“The security she has never known.” The words came quickly, as if they had been waiting to be spoken. “They
could spoil and cosset her. If she were free of me, she might one day find some proper English lord who would offer her the solidity of a settled life rather than sweeping her along on impossible adventures.”