Chapter Seventeen
Parchments
Neave, January 28, 1565, Ulster, Ireland · Siena, September 3, 2011, Washington D.C.
As a girl, I lovedCastle McConway. But it was too full of ghosts and shadows now. With the tip of the broom handle, I extricated Aine’s trinity stone from underneath the bed. The same bed on which Aedan—I clenched my teeth, no, the Earl—and I had consummated our marriage. I carried it to my cold bedchamber and placed it beside the stone from one miserable feis. They were nearly identical—Aine’s a bit smaller than the feis one.
I took both and flung them against the wall with all my might. The din reverberated in my empty chamber. If only my heart could turn to stone, too—a hard, unbreakable mass, impervious to betrayal and loss.
The Earl returned to Ulster yesterday—a fortnight since I received his filthy letter. And for a fortnight, I held it close. In the light of the day, I stored it in my belt to steady me when my mind doubted and disbelieved. And in the dead of the night, I tucked it beneath my pillow to quell the blows ringing in my ears I hadn’t known him equal to.
My father shielded me as best he could, yet he had no power to silence the gossiping servants. But as servants do, they’d sorted it all out for themselves—the Earl’s new wife was young and comely, and so he’d not wish to keep me on as his concubine.
I clamped a hand over my mouth. A hoarse moan tore through me and filled my small chamber. Another followed, louder and uglier. I sank down on my narrow bed and hugged myself, wailing and moaning as I rocked, rocked, rocked myself into a dizzy oblivion—
I came to myself when Siobhan brought Ronan over for his daily visit. Eyes dried and hair smoothed, I embraced the little boy whose growing resemblance to his father made me sweat and shiver.
Since our banishment to Castle McConway, our exchanges grew dishearteningly predictable.
“When shall we return home, mama?” Ronan untangled himself from me and stood up straight, steel-blue eyes blazing. “I want to be there when da comes back from London!”
“Don’t you fancy visiting with your grandsire, a leanbh?” I reached for his hair, but he batted my trembling hand away.
“I’ve visited with my grandsire long enough. I want my da!”
I turned to Siobhan to hide my face from my son.
“Haven’t you a sweet waiting for Lord Ronan?”
“Do I?” The nursemaid gave the boy a mysterious smile. “Oh, but what a tasty sweet I’ve for you—”
I lurched at the approaching clatter of hoofbeats. Father wasn’t expecting visitors. Tense as a bowstring, I stepped to the window—and shrank back at the sight of the Earl himself atop his berserk mount, six guard following behind.
“Take Lord Ronan to his chamber outright,” I whispered to the wide-eyed Siobhan. “And don’t leave it until I say.”
Despite Ronan’s frantic attempts to peer into the courtyard, Siobhan had managed to hurry him out. After their footsteps and his protests subsided, I released a shuddering breath and stumbled down the stairs. Clammy and shaky all over, I halted in the corridor—in the hearing distance of the great hall.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your unheralded visit, m’lord?” My father’s voice was cold as ice.
He was here, only feet away. So close, I could hear his breathing, swift and rugged—the way he breathed after heavy riding. I buried my fingers in the soft wool of my kirtle, chest weighted with lead, eyes burning with useless tears.
I grasped at the wall at the Earl’s low reply. “I’ve come to see Lady Neave.”
“To what end, m’lord?”
“For a word.” His voice came forth sure and even. Unruffled.
A weighty stretch of silence followed.
“I wish to see her, Cormac.” The Earl’s voice grew deeper.
“She has no wish to see you, m’lord.”
“Cormac.” Father’s name was a command to be obeyed.
“If memory serves—” Father’s inflection turned mocking and hostile. “You swore to take care of my Neave, m’lord.”
“I wish to talk to the mother of my children!” The Earl’s words thundered throughout the castle.
Father cleared his throat. “It could be I’ve grown old, but in my day, taking care of a woman meant not abandoning her and her children for the sake of one’s political ambitions.”
Something metallic hit the floor with a heavy twang. Eyes wide and unblinking, I peeked round the corner.
“Do not test me, Cormac.” The Earl towered over father, one of his sheathed daggers lying a distance away. “I’ll order my guard to search the castle and bring her out by force.”
“Will you now?” Father met his overlord’s gaze, unflinching. “I’ve guard, too. I’ll see to it that they protect my castle and women.”
I stopped breathing. None took such a tone with the Earl.
“You forget yourself, Cormac!” The Earl balled his hands into tight fists and drew closer. “I’ll not be insulted by my own subject.”
And none took such a tone with Lord McConway.
Father placed his hand on his scian and flicked a nod to the guard. “I’ll not be insulted in my own home.”
Chest heaving, I stepped from my hiding place. The guard retreated.
“My Neave—” The Earl blew out his breath. “Thank God...”
He didn’t look well near: hair tangled, face dull with fatigue, eyes swimming with drink and lined with shadows. In his hand, he held a parchment. Another parchment!
Suddenly, I laughed—that shrill, unnatural sound again. “Is the Right Honorable Countess of Worcester failing to satisfy your taste for chastisement, my lord?” I glared, unblinking. I’ll strip you naked before the world.
He paled. “A word, my Neave—”
“My lord—” Ears pounding, I stepped toward him. “I insist with deference and regard, as befits your rank—” The English words emerged in a low growl I didn’t know myself capable of producing. “It isn’t proper for you to call me by my given name, my lord. And neither is it proper for you, a wedded man, bound by vows, to come here, seeking my company, my lord. You heard my father—I’ve no wish to see you, my lord.”
He flinched. “Lady Neave—” He lifted his parchment. “I...I ask only that you—”
I swallowed, throat tight and raw. “I am flattered my lord, but I refuse. You may take your leave, my lord.”
He shot toward me, but father stepped between us.
“You heard Lady Neave.” Father’s voice boomed in his great hall. “She’ll not be your concubine. I thank you for your visit.”
“Read this—” The Earl swerved around father and thrust the parchment into my hand. “It was to reach you—”
I crumbled it in my hands, wrecking it, and stuffed it in my belt. My eyes were on fire, the world—a misshapen blur of ugliness. My fingers were still swollen with childbearing, but I tore at his Claddagh ring, ripping it off with bits of skin and flesh. I scarcely felt the pain as I hurled it at him, my finger dripping with blood.
He caught it.
My voice, back to Irish, was an ear-piercing shriek. “Give your blasted ring to your lawful wife!” A painful spasm gripped my face, braced my throat. “And may she have joy of it and of your self-seeking attentions and depravities!” I was going to be violently ill. “The sight of you makes my gorge rise...”
I didn’t make it to my chamber, for I had to stop and retch at the end of the corridor while the servants hung back with the looks of horror.
***
Austin’s wails jerkedme from the vision at his usual time, 2:30 AM.
I studied my modern Claddagh ring as he nursed, the gold band dim in the scant moonlight. Something in Aedan’s face didn’t match that horrible letter. No one who looked that tormented could have written such filth of his own free will.
A chill cut through me like a knife. Could Neave have been too impetuous, too rash to jump to conclusions?
I caught my tears in my hand before they could land on my baby’s warm little body.
She could have been, for I still am.