"I can't bear to think of him in that filthy place."
"We'll free him, AnnaClaire." Conor looked down at her, saw the
pain and the fear she couldn't hide.
She swallowed. Lifted her chin in that manner he'd come to
recognize. "Aye. We will. Or die trying."
He touched a hand to her cold cheek. "I see why my brother loves
you."
She turned away to hide the ache around her heart. "It isn't love,
Conor. It's gratitude he feels for me. For taking him in. For hiding
him."
"If you think that, my lady, you're sadly mistaken. I've seen the way
Rory looks at you. What I see in his eyes isn't gratitude. It's love." He
tipped up her chin and smiled. "I see the same look in your eyes, and
it gladdens my heart."
"Truly?"
"Aye. I'd hate to think Rory had lost his heart to one who didn't share
his feelings." His voice lowered. "'Tis a miracle that his broken heart
could mend so thoroughly. But now that I've come to know you, I can
understand it. You're good for him, AnnaClaire Thompson. Maybe
the best thing that's happened to my brother in a very long time."
She felt tears burn her eyes and blinked furiously. Her emotions were
entirely too close to the surface. She lifted herself on tiptoe and
brushed a kiss over Conor's cheek. "Thank you, Conor. This wind is...
stinging my eyes."
She hurried below deck to seek shelter from the wind, and from the
storm that was whirling around her heart. Once inside her cabin, she
closed the door and leaned wearily against it. Though she had put on a
very brave face for the O'Neil family, the truth was, she had no idea
how her father would react to her sudden appearance at Court.
Especially when he learned that she had aligned herself with an Irish
outlaw.
She slumped down on the edge of the cot. "There's no turning back
now, my girl. You're bound for England."
"Are we truly?"
At the sound of the muffled voice, she jumped up and stared around
the cramped cabin, then crossed to the tiny wardrobe. When she tore
open the door she stared in shock and disbelief at the figure huddled
beneath her clothes.
"Innis. How did you get here?"
"I hid myself in your trunk. Then, once it was carried aboard ship, I
slipped out and mingled with the workers until Velia left your cabin.
Then I sneaked in here to wait until we were underway."
She shot him a look of indignation. ' 'Do you know what you've
done?"
"Aye. I've disobeyed the O'Neil. He'll be furious."
"Of that I have no doubt. And since I've tasted his temper, I don't envy
you. But what about Moira? She'll be desperately afraid when she
finds you missing, Innis."
"I left her a missive, tucked under my bedcovers, explaining where
I've gone and why. By the time she finds it, 'twill be too late to catch
me. Just as it's now too late for you to send me back."
"Is that so? What makes you think I won't?"
"Because you'd dare not waste the time it would take.
Englishwoman." He stepped jauntily from the wardrobe and rubbed
his damp hands along his sides. "'Twas a bit warm in there. But not
nearly as uncomfortable as the trunk."
"Oh, Innis," she said on a sigh. "What am I to do with you?"
"You might try feeding me. I've had not a bite all day."
She shook her head in exasperation. Then, at the realization of what
he'd done, she wrapped her arms around him and drew him close.
"We may, none of us, come out of this alive, Innis. Have you thought
of that?"
Feeling shy and awkward, he took a step back. "Aye, Englishwoman.
But if I must die, at least I'll die nobly, as my father and grandfather
did. And I'll be in good company, with Rory and Conor."
"Conor. Oh, sweet heaven. What will he say when he learns what
you've done?"
"No more than you, I expect." He climbed up on her bunk and stared
out the tiny porthole. "I've never been to England. Will it be so much
different than Ballinarin?"
She stared at the little boy, who was so determined to be a man. With
a sigh she muttered, "You'll see soon enough for yourself. Now I
think it's time for us to go to Conor. You might prepare yourself for
his temper."
He followed her from the cabin, completely unconcerned about what
was to come. With the innocence of youth, he gave not a thought to
those he'd left behind to fret and pace. Or to the dangers that awaited
him at journey's end. For now, all that mattered was that he was here,
aboard ship with the lady who, though one of the hated English,
reminded him of his beautiful mother. And together they were about
to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.
Chapter Eighteen
'Oh, my lady." Velia, trailing behind AnnaClaire and Conor, couldn't
stop staring at the sights and sounds of the London docks. "I'm dizzy
just seeing all this."
Innis, walking beside her, kept swiveling his head so he wouldn't
miss anything. There were crates of animals. Monkeys, chattering to
each other, to the delight of the crowd. A sleek tiger pacing back and
forth, issuing fierce growls, while his handlers watched from a safe
distance. There were baskets of fruit and sacks of teas and pungent
spices. But it was the people who were the most fascinating. There
were tall dark men with turbans, and exotic ladies with almond eyes
and body-skimming gowns. Beggars, calling for alms from those who
passed by. Elegant carriages bearing the wealthy, titled ladies, who
shielded their faces from the sun with wide-brimmed bonnets and
parasols. Gentlemen in fine coats, returning from voyages to India
and France and Spain. And dandies in satin breeches and plumed
hats, haggling with merchants and vendors.
In the midst of such chaos, AnnaClaire was grateful for Conor's quiet
competence. It was clear that he had often traveled abroad and was
comfortable dealing with their trunks and arranging carriages.
As their driver began lashing the trunks to the back of the carriage,
Conor helped the others inside, then took his place across from
AnnaClaire. "Are you certain your father will have no objection to
sharing his London townhouse with members of the O'Neil
household?"
"I have no way of knowing his reaction." She couldn't suppress a
smile. "But I think it's safe to say he'll greet you at least as warmly as
your father greeted me when he learned he had an Englishwoman at
his table."
Conor winced. "My father's famous temper was a part of our daily
lives. We were as accustomed to it as the winds that blow across
Croagh Patrick. It must have been a shock to your delicate
sensibilities, my lady."
"It was...interesting." She glanced at Innis, who was staring
wide-eyed at the passing parade. "Just as London is proving to be
interesting to our young lad. What think you, Innis?"
"So much to see. So many strange people. And all of them hurrying
somewhere."
"Aye." She leaned back, feeling drained from their journey. "After
my months in Dublin, I'd forgotten how frantic the pace of London
can be."
The driver climbed to his seat and cracked the whip and the horse
moved ahead with a slow, steady gait. Leaving the teeming masses of
the docks behind, they rolled -through the broad streets of London.
"The tailors work here." On Bond Street, AnnaClaire pointed to the
cramped narrow shops. "And up here the butchers and bakers." They
inhaled the fragrance of freshly baked bread that wafted from the
shops.
In a pretty green park, children played under the watchful eye of their
mothers or nurses, who sat gossiping on stone benches. Warm spring
sunshine added to the gaiety of the scene.
The carriage slowed, then veered along a winding drive planted with
hedges. "This is where my father lives when he is in London,"
AnnaClaire said simply.
It was an elegant home of three stories, with a caretaker's cottage in
front and a splendid carriage house off to one side.
When the driver reined in his horse, the front door opened and a
servant, spying AnnaClaire, came forward with a bright smile.
"Oh, my lady. We received no notice that you were coming home."
"I know, Wilona. There was no time to notify my father. Is he home?"
"Nay, my lady. He is with the queen at Greenwich Palace."
"Then the queen is in residence here in London?"
"Aye, my lady. We've scarcely seen your father since the queen
returned. He spends all his time at Court."
AnnaClaire gave a sigh of resignation. She had hoped for some time
alone with her father, to explain all that had happened to her, and to
seek his counsel on the wisest course of action regarding Rory. Now,
she and Conor, it would seem, would have to make their choices
blindly.
"Wilona, this is Velia. If you'll show her to my rooms, I'll be along
shortly. My friends and I would like to refresh ourselves in the
parlor."The little maid nodded. "Aye, my lady. I'll ask Cook to see to
it at once."
AnnaClaire led Innis and Conor through the familiar rooms of her
family home until they reached the parlor. Unlike the keep at
Ballinarin, this room was light and airy, with peach-colored walls and
soft draperies at the windows that fluttered in the afternoon breeze.
Despite the warmth of the day, a fire burned on the hearth, adding to
the coziness of the room.
Innis moved around the room, pausing to study a miniature portrait
on a highly-polished table before snuggling into the comfort of a
chaise. "Is this where you live?"
AnnaClaire nodded. "Sometimes." She glanced around at the familiar
things she'd known since her childhood. "We have a lovely estate in
Berkshire, and another in Surrey."
Conor, feeling restless, paced to the window. ' 'With so many homes
here, why did you go to Dublin?"
"It's where my mother wanted to be." AnnaClaire's tone softened, as
it always did when she spoke of her mother. "She knew she was dying
and wanted to die on Irish soil. At the time, I didn't understand. But
now I do. Ireland held her heart. Just as it now holds mine."
Both Conor and Innis were watching her with identical looks of
surprise and pleasure at her admission. She looked up as the maid
entered carrying a silver tray.
"Cook asks if you and your guests will be staying for supper, my
lady."
AnnaClaire looked to Conor for confirmation. At a shake of his head
she said, "Not tonight, Wilona." She glanced at the boy, who was
struggling to keep his eyes open. "But you can take young Innis
above stairs to my chambers. After he rests, he'll take a meal with
Velia."
"Aye, my lady." The maid poured tea and uncovered a plate of
thinly-sliced beef and an assortment of fruits and cheeses. Then, with
Innis in tow, she started to leave the room.
At the door the lad turned and walked back to AnnaClaire. Catching
her hand he said, "When this is over, will you return to Ballinarin
with Rory?"
She squeezed his hand. "It is my fondest wish, Innis."
"And mine." He chose his words carefully. "I've long wished that
Rory would be my father. I'd like you to be my mother. Would you
mind, Englishwoman?"
"Mind?" She dropped to her knees and gathered him close. "Oh,
Innis. More than anything, I would have you for my son."
He drew back and stared into her eyes. Then, with that solemn look
she had come to recognize, he turned and followed the maid from the
room.
For long minutes after the door closed behind them, she was unable to
speak over the lump in her throat.
At last she turned to Conor who was watching her carefully. "Have
you a plan?"
"Of sorts." He, too, was moved by what he'd just seen and heard. And
more determined than ever to succeed. "We must request an audience
with the queen. I was hoping your father might arrange that. But first,
I must find a way to see Rory. I need to see for myself that he is..." His
voice trailed off. He couldn't stop thinking about the gruesome tales
he'd heard of the treatment of Irish prisoners on the journey to Fleet I
Prison, and in the prison itself.
AnnaClaire had no need to hear. Just seeing the look on his face had
her heart nearly stopping. She set down her cup with a clatter and
started toward the door. "We'll find a way to see him. Perhaps we
Conor closed a hand over her arm, stopping her in mid-stride. "Hold,
my lady. Fleet is no place for you. You'll stay here with Innis."
"I'll do no such thing. I've come this far, Conor. I'll see it through.
Besides, I know the streets of London. I can lead you to Fleet and
back. You see, Conor, you need me, if you hope to get through the
next few days."
He took one look at the lift of her chin, the set of her jaw, and burst
into laughter. "By the heavens, I'm beginning to see what my brother
had to put up with. All right. We'll go together. But I warn you, my
lady, you'll be shocked by what you'll see in that filthy place."
AnnaClaire was more than shocked. She was stunned. Horrified. Her
stomach rolled and she gagged with every step, as she and Conor
descended rough stone steps that led into the very bowels of the
cavernous prison.
It was dark as a tomb. Except for tiny slits cut in the rough stone
walls, allowing for a little light, there was no way of knowing if it was
day or night. The fetid air reeked of human waste and decay. Some
cells held more than a dozen prisoners, some chained, others lying
about, too weak to stand. All around them were the sounds of
sobbing, wailing, moaning. It was a scene out of a nightmare.
It had taken a purse of gold to persuade the jailer to lead them to the
Irish prisoner. Even then he probably would have left them lost and
confused had Conor not had the foresight to withhold half the purse
until they were standing outside Rory's cell.
"Here." Conor thrust the rest of the gold into the man's outstretched
hand. "See we're not accosted. If you do s
o, and warn us of anyone
approaching, there will be more when we leave."
"Aye." The burly guard shoved the coins inside his tunic and handed
Conor a torch before striding away.
Conor held the torch aloft and strained to see beyond the bars of the
rusted door. This was a single cell, far from the others. Inside, a lone
prisoner was sprawled on the cold stone floor.
"Dear God." For a moment Conor thought he might be dead. "Rory.
Rory, speak to me."
The figure lifted his head and moaned. Conor and AnnaClaire turned
to each other with identical sighs of relief.
"You're alive then, Rory," Conor called.
For a moment the figure blinked against the light of the torch. Then,
holding an arm to his face to shield his eyes, he muttered, "Barely. Is
it you, Conor?"
"Aye."
"I'm here too, Rory love."
At the sound of AnnaClaire's voice he struggled to his knees and
turned away from the light. "For God's -ake, Conor, get her out of
here."
"Oh Rory." She tried to keep the jumble of emo- :ions from her voice,
but it was impossible. "We've jome to plead for your life. We'll go to
the queen. We'll..."
"You're wasting your time." He cut her off abruptly. "My life is over.
Tilden has said he'll see me dead before he'll ever release me from
this hell. He's a hero now. His queen is about to welcome him in a
lavish ceremony. When it's over, he'll announce that I attempted to
flee and my jailers had to kill me." With his back to them he said,
"Now take her out of here, Conor. And see that she doesn't come
back."
AnnaClaire's voice trembled with emotion. "I never thought you a
coward, Rory O'Neil."
"A coward?"
"Aye. A coward who would give up without a fight."
He did turn then and struggled to his feet. In that moment both
AnnaClaire and Conor had a chance to see just how devastating his
wounds were. His clothes were torn and bloody, his hair matted with
dried blood. His face had been battered viciously. One eye was
closed. The other bore a gash from brow to temple. He had tied a dirty
rag around his thigh to stem the flow of blood from a gaping wound,
and his left arm hung uselessly at his side.
"Oh, my beloved." Though AnnaClaire couldn't stop the tears that
streamed down her face, she forced herself to go on. "If you must give