Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws) (42 page)

Great pity touched her features. “Aodh, my love, what use would a soldier be if she could not use a weapon?”
      He dropped a kiss on her nose.
 

There was a small commotion near the front of the English army camp, then a mounted contingent rode out from its depths, flying the flag of Elizabeth and a flag of truce.
 

“Parley,” Ré declared quietly as the rider cantered up the pebbled path. “He wants to talk.”
 

Aodh nodded. He’d served under Ludthorpe; the man was both competent and decisive. The chance that Elizabeth had sent such an experienced commander to parley, rather than engage, was slim, but it must be explored.
 

They met on the field between the castle and the army, within bowshot of everyone.
 

“Aodh, good God man, what are you about here?” called Sir Charles Ludthorpe, the queen’s lieutenant commander and once Aodh’s captain, from across the field.
 

“You called this meeting,” Aodh called back, and Ludthorpe’s laugh replied.
 

They dismounted as they drew to the center. Behind him, Ré did the same; he and Ludthorpe had brought one man each to this midfield conference, within bowshot of the Rardove soldiers who lined the castle walls, and the English army encamped behind the meadow. The two commanders were open targets for everyone, which was entirely the point.
 

Ludthorpe vaulted from his horse before it fully stopped and strode to Aodh. “I’d never have predicted our reunion would take place here,” he announced boisterously, then reached for Aodh’s hand and pumped it. “As I recall, Con, you never much cared for Ireland.”

Aodh said nothing. What was there to say? That now that he stood again on its green earth, he felt his blood flowing as it never had before? That he knew now he could thrive nowhere but Ireland?
 

None of that mattered to Ludthorpe. Only surrender mattered. And that could never be.

The buckles on Ludthorpe’s vest winked in the sun as he put his hands on his hips and examined the castle defenses. Then he looked back at Aodh. “Well, what are you doing here?”

“I should think that would be obvious.”

“Then
why
are you doing it?”

“I should think that would be equally obvious.”

Ludthorpe blew out a gust of air. “The queen is not pleased. Not pleased at all.”
 

“Nor am I. She made me a vow she did not keep.”

“That is her privilege, Aodh. She is the queen.” Ludthorpe appraised him for a long moment. “Will you surrender, now, before this descends into further madness?”

“Will the queen honor her promise?”

“It was never a promise. You think we have not all had vague vows snatched away, at inopportune times, given to less worthy men, for reasons of politics or passion or whim? What if we all went about taking castles that did not belong to us?”

Aodh nodded thoughtfully, then said, “But Rardove
is
mine.”

Ludthorpe stared at Aodh, then gave a short bark of laughter. “No talking to you, is there?”

“I will talk. Moreover, I will listen, if the queen has something new to say. But if she says what she has ever said, ‘
Yes, no, never,
’ then there is no need. I’ve heard it a hundred times. She was in error. I am rectifying it. Furthermore, I have offered to hold Rardove for her. Rardove can be loyal. Or it can be rebel. ’Tis up to her.”

A begrudging smile touched the captain’s face. “I was not sent with the authority to discuss terms other than complete and unconditional surrender.”

Aodh shook his head. Ludthorpe nodded slowly. “And what does the lady say? Lady Katarina?”

Aodh regarded him coldly. “Why?”

The commander shrugged. “Ever has she been loyal to the Crown. Now you arrive, and I receive a letter praising you to the heavens and begging for mercy on your behalf.”

“She should not have sent that.”

“But she did. Which makes her neatly into a traitor too.”

They stared at each other.

“Why do you not at least send her out to me?” Ludthorpe proposed. “Let her step aside, away from this madness, while we handle the matter. She need not be implicated, nor have any blood on her hands. In fact…” He eyed Aodh. “If you send her to me, I will protect her, destroy her note. The queen need never know she turned, not even a quarter turn. She will be blameless. And in that wise, however this matter turns out, whosoever prevails, she will be protected.”

 
His chest felt tight. It was an unforeseen offer of kindness, one that would, indeed, protect Katarina no matter what transpired. Aodh had no vision for the future but success, and yet…and yet, Katarina should be protected at all costs, by whatever means.
 

And yet….

He took a slow breath, then turned and pointed at the castle walls.

“Do you see the soldier in the front of the northwest tower?” he said quietly.

Ludthorpe nodded.

“See the hair?”

Ludthorpe stared, then made a sound of surprise. “Methinks I see hair on a goodly number of them.”

“You do. They are hers. That is she. The lady of Rardove.”

“Armed?”

He nodded.
 

“Good God,” Ludthorpe exclaimed in a low breath. “On
your
behalf?”

Pride and fear moved through him in equal measure. “Aye.”

Ludthorpe turned, squinting against the rising sun, his teeth bared in a grin. “You are not to be believed, Aodh,” he said. “Send her to me, and I swear, she will not be harmed.”

“It is not my choice to make, my lord.” Aodh turned for St. George. Ré did as well, a silent shadow.

“It will not be pretty,” the commander said as they swung up.

“No, it will not.” Aodh gathered his reins and nodded toward the tree-lined hills that surrounded them. “There are a lot of Irishmen out there.”

“My scouts estimated a hundred,” Ludthorpe revealed. “Not so many.”

“More are coming.”

“That is good to know. I do not intend to be here long.” The commander pointed to the bright green meadow that stretched in front the castle. “That thing ate one of my cannons.” The top half of the long gray barrel of a cannon could be seen, pointing up at an odd angle out of the vibrant green. Its back end and lower portion had been sucked under.

Aodh smiled faintly. “It’ll eat everything: armament, horses, men…’tis a hungry meadow.”

Ludthorpe laid his hand flat over his brow and peered at the keep. “So the path is the only way,” he muttered. “The cliffs behind are far too treacherous.”

“The path back to England remains open to you.”

Ludthorpe lowered his hand and clapped it against his thigh. “Well, that’s that, then. I am sorry it has to end this way, Aodh.”

“As am I. Would your men want some whisky?”

The commander’s eyes lit up. “Jesus God, man, yes.”

Aodh smiled. “I’ll have some sent out.”

“Anything to lift their spirits. These winds, this wet…”

“God-awful.”

“How does one
do
it?” Ludthorpe asked with a burst of impatience. “Live out here, in all this?”

“Ireland isn’t for everyone, my lord.”

Ludthorpe met his eye. “But it is for you, eh? At all costs?”
 

“All of them.” Aodh and Ré reined about.

“She always favored you, Aodh,” Ludthorpe called. “She would be lenient.”

“The queen was always lenient if I did her bidding. Under all other conditions, she is perilous. If you think otherwise, Charles, you do not know her.”

*

BERTRAND, LORD OF BRIDGE, stared at Ludthorpe when he rode back into camp. “You mean to say you simply let him go?”

“I did,” Ludthorpe replied curtly, sliding off his horse and striding purposefully into his tent.
 

Bertrand followed, scowling. “Why?”
 

“I was within arrowshot of a hundred bowmen.”
 

Ludthorpe bent over his small camp desk and scribbled out a few words on a piece of paper, then handed it to a young soldier who stood waiting.
 

Outside the tent, the campfires were burning. Soldiers stood around them, eating cold food and drinking warm ale and glancing up into the darkening hillsides and forests that surrounded the valley. Unease flowed through the camp like a fog. All around, the trees seemed to move and whisper as evening winds kicked up. But it wasn’t the winds rustling amid the trees; it was the Irish.
 

No one had expected him to amass allies so swiftly. And if Aodh spoke true, more were coming. Ludthorpe saw no reason to doubt it. Indeed, he’d just received intelligence reporting the O’Fail tribe was mustering, and that was trouble. They would be here in a few days. All the more reason to get the hell out of Ireland.
 

Aodh had always been exceptionally persuasive, Ludthorpe thought with grim admiration. In only this one matter, of Rardove, had the man failed to get his way.
 

And it was upon this one that his life would hang.

A pity, the arrogance, and stubbornness, the foolish
commitment
to a cause that did not translate directly into money or comfort. For Ludthorpe, causes were a waste of time and manpower. Food and featherbeds mattered far more, particularly as he got older. If he handled this matter of Aodh and Rardove to the queen’s satisfaction, he would get precisely that, via a grant of the monopoly on the pepper. A rich retirement awaited.
 

Still, Ludthorpe had to admit, he admired Aodh. And he certes
liked
him far better than the noble idiot now crowing in his ear, Bertrand of Bridge.

“You should have lured him closer to our side of things, and we’d have had a clear shot at his head,” Bertrand complained.

“Had I lured him into my tent, Bridge, we were still in parley. Those are the rules of parley: you do not kill each other.” He pushed away from the desk and stared out of the tent. Through the flap, which was tied open, twilight grayed the sky. The campfires shone as bright red dots across the plain.
 

Bertrand hurried out of the tent after him. “Rules?” At the high-pitched angry word, soldiers turned to stare. “
Rules
? What is a rule?” Bertrand demanded. “Against the Irish, the only rule is burn them out. Stamp them flat. You are a fool, Ludthorpe, if you think—”

“Have a care, Bridge. Rules are the only thing that keeps me from taking a broadsword to you right now.”
 

The commander called for one of his men, then swung back suddenly and said, “I know not what the queen sees in you, Bridge, but heed me: do not gainsay me in front of my men again. If you do, I will push you outside our lines myself, and let the Irish have their way with you.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

WALTER APPROACHED KATARINA in the gardens the next afternoon, while she was laying down a new row of onions.
 

She could stare at the army only so long. Nothing seemed to be happening—Aodh was correct, no army could lay an effective assault on Rardove. So it seemed they were in for a long siege. Rationing had begun, but again, even there, Rardove provided: men had tromped down to the seas by the treacherous cliff pathway just this morning and netted a large catch of fish.

Being in the garden not only gave her something to do, it was soothing to be kneeling in soft piles of dirt, concerned with nothing but how to make something small, grow. Beside her, Susanna crouched, her happy, undemanding chatter as soothing as the sun and earth.
 

Walter’s shadow fell over her and he said in an urgent voice, “My lady, come swiftly.”

Startled, she yanked her hands out of the dirt and stared in shock. Walter’s face was sooty, and he smelled of smoke, as if he’d been standing over a fire. “What happened?”

“There was a small fire—”

She shot to her feet. “Where?”
 

He waved his hand. “All is contained now, my lady. But you must come. Hurry.” He glanced around nervously as he said it.