Authors: Elizabeth Mayne
Lord of the Isle (32 page)
“If they think we’re dead, wouldn’t that be an unnecessarily cruel joke?”
“I don’t know.” Hugh gave the matter further thought. “It might make the old sod appreciate me from now on. I came close to killing him at the start of this watery adventure.”
“What stopped you?”
Hugh remembered his declaration of love that had stopped Loghran in his tracks. “Oh,” he said, not wanting to go into that right now, “as always, it was matter of his not believing how serious I am. We’re working on a solution.”
The solution would be the blessing of marriage vows spoken over him and Morgana by Father Loghran O’Toole.
“Come on, my love. Let’s put them out of their misery. I can see their faces now. They look as forlorn as can be. I can’t be so cruel as to make them suffer any longer.”
“That sounds like my Hugh talking.” Morgana grinned as she threaded her arm through his.
“My Hugh.
I think I like the sound of that, my Morgana.”
They had climbed to the top of the waterfall and were walking outside the rushes on the bank when they were spotted by all seven riders. Four came galloping through the rapids to join the other three bearing down on Hugh and Morgana.
Seven voices shouted at once.
“God and Mary be praised! You’re alive!”
Donald the Fair was the first to clap Hugh on the back and embrace him. He shook him hard, laughing wildly. “I know how you did it. Just like when we were boys, feet-first, right?”
“Stand aside, Donald,” Loghran said. “Let me put my arms around my beloved son.”
The older man grasped Hugh and held him so tight Hugh thought his back would be broken afresh. Shamus Fitz gave a shout of triumph and literally picked Hugh up off the ground in a crushing bear hug. Kermit slapped him on the back so hard that any water that remained inside Hugh was driven out by the pounding.
Then they all turned on Morgana, their greeting to her more reserved and proper. Donald the Fair kissed both her cheeks and welcomed her to clan O’Neill. Loghran hugged her and thanked her for bringing Hugh back to them, alive. Shamus Fitz gave her a bear hug just a tad less ferocious than that he had given Hugh. Morgana squealed to have her ribs compressed so tight. Art Macmurrough put his knee to the ground and kissed Morgana’s hand.
Then they boosted the two of them onto a horse, and they all rode for Dungannon, chattering away like the true, welltested friends they all were. Hugh heard confirmation of what Morgana had told him about Kelly.
“We found out Kelly’s soldiers were deserters he’d conscripted in Colraine. The two Lady Morgana let live on the bridge were both scared puppies.”
“You let two redcoats live?” Hugh asked Morgana, astounded.
“An oversight, my lord. They were young enough to pee their pants when Maoveen started wailing.”
“What’s this about Maoveen?” Hugh asked testily. “That’s superstitious nonsense.”
Neither Morgana nor any of the kerns contradicted Hugh on that score. Rory and Brian ducked their heads, then looked at the lady. “You heard her?” Rory asked.
“I did.” Morgana nodded. She knew better than to laugh at the old ways. Hugh O’Neill did not.
They came to Dungannon anon, and found the gates draped in black crepe.. With a rising sense of alarm, they rode through silent streets. The bell at the Dominican abbey tolled a death knell.
At the fortress, the gates stood unmanned and wide open. That in itself was a tradition, when the one who’d died was
within the castle itself. No one spoke as they passed over the bridge to the castle on the crannog.
It wasn’t until Hugh dismounted and took Morgana’s hand firmly in his that the truth sunk into him. Death
had
come to the O’Neills.
In the great hall of Dungannon, the last son of Conn the Lame was laid out on his bier. Matthew’s shriveled, twisted form was dressed in his finest raiment. Death had waxed his skin and ended the pain that had tormented Matthew O’Neill for over twenty years.
Hugh walked into the hall to the soft sound of his people keening, “O’Neill, O’Neill, O’Neill…”
Every man, woman and child in the hall turned to Hugh, looking at him for leadership.
His heart sank with sorrow for the uncle he’d never truly known. There’d be no wedding in Dungannon today. He and Morgana would have to wait a little longer to begin their life together as man and wife.
As he felt her hand compress against his, consoling him, assuring him, he knew that their day was at hand. Come tomorrow, their vows would be spoken and a new life would begin.
June 24, 1575
Dungannon Castle
County Tyrone, Ireland
R
ory O’Neill went through three horses on the relay from Carrickfergus to Dungannon. He’d waited three weeks for the packet to return with an answer from London to the O’Neill’s letters to the queen. If he’d known how to read English, Rory wouldn’t have ridden in such haste to have the news everyone in Tyrone waited with bated breath to hear. He’d have read the news himself, then ridden hell-bent for leather to Dungannon.
Word of his arrival at the gates passed swiftly from mouth to mouth and head to head, preceding his arrival at the castle.
The moment Mrs. Carrick heard the news, she hitched up her skirts and huffed and puffed up the hill to the chapel’s tiny graveyard. Few at Dungannon had joined the procession from the township’s common graveyard to the blessed and hallowed sanctuary behind the chapel.
Loghran wore a cope over his brown robe. He was reciting the last “Glory be to the Father” over Catherine Fitzgerald’s new grave, beside Conn O’Neill and his other two wives. Mrs. Carrick respectfully bowed her head and said the proper response, fairly bursting from the effort it took to hold back her news.
Morgana said, “Amen,” and laid a bouquet of flowers on the new stone. “Rest in peace, Aunt Catherine,” she said out loud.
Oh, I will child. Bless you! Bless you!
Catherine said joyously as she hovered over the new grave.
How you did it, child, I’ll never know, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart. God bless both of you.
“Oh, Hugh, it’s so sad.” Morgana stood above the freshly covered grave looking at the spray of roses she’d laid upon the earth. “Catherine’s murder caused so much bitterness and misunderstanding between our families.”
Hugh’s arm tightened around her waist, holding Morgana against him. “We have to think it’s been righted now. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know who pushed the lady out that tower window. But Catherine is where she belongs now. I hope my grandfather is there to greet her in heaven.”
“Do you really believe there is a heaven, Hugh?” Morgana asked. Hugh’s arm firmed at her waist and he looked down into her eyes, nodding his head.
“Aye, Morgana. Death isn’t the end of life. It’s a new beginning. Why, in the isle of the blessed everyone loves one another.”
Morgana rested her head on his shoulder. Her faith wavered and she had doubts, but Hugh never did.
“With all my heart, I believe it is so.” He solemnly wiped two more tears from her cheeks. “You’ve a kind heart, my lady. You feel too much, give too much and keep nothing inside for yourself. Trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you about something so important as heaven. It exists. Else there would not be angels like you here on this earth.”
“Ahem…” Mrs. Carrick cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, my lord O’Neill. Rory’s come.”
Hugh lifted his head, scowling at being interrupted in a private moment with Morgana. He had few enough of those in his too-busy days. “What did you say?”
“Ah?” Morgana drew in a sharp breath. “Rory’s come!”
“Sweet Saint Patrick, Loghran! Put away the missal and the stole. Run! Rory’s come!”
Hugh took hold of Morgana’s hand, and they ran down the hill and into the castle ward. Word had spread inside the house, and the great doors burst open. People spilled onto the cobblestones filling the ward as Rory galloped into the bailey. The young man bounded out of his saddle as if he had blisters on his arse, which he did.
He dragged his packet off his shoulder and fell to his knee before Hugh, saluting at the same time he extended the leather packet. “From the queen, O’Neill. The answer to all of our prayers.”
Hugh’s hands shook as he unfastened the buckle and ripped the packet open. Two scrolls fell out into his hands. He turned them, reading the seals. Only one was from Elizabeth. His heart jolted inside his chest as he broke the seal.
Then his fingers turned to butter trying to unroll the foolscap. He gripped it fiercely at each end and spread it open, scanning Queen Elizabeth’s fluid scrawl.
Morgana refused to look at the words. She had her eyes closed, praying for all she was worth, as she had prayed each and every night since the day of their marriage.
Her fingers trembled. She turned the gold band on her ring finger around for good luck. She even said a spell to change bad news to good.
“What’s it say?” Loghran came to a breathless stop in the only open space left before Hugh.
Hugh looked up and crushed the paper together between his hands. His face hardened into a solid piece of stone.
“Oh, no.” Morgana pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“Her Majesty, the queen of England, says…” Hugh held the moment out just a little bit longer before allowing his face to erupt in a brilliant smile. “…that we are well met and married, Morgana and I! She sends her blessings and prays now for peace in Ireland.”
He caught Morgana up in his arms and spun her around in a full circle, then kissed her before one and all.
Loghran slapped his hand over his heart as a deafening cheer rocked the ward of Dungannon Castle. “God bless the queen!” he said jubilantly, then threw his arms around both Hugh and Morgana. “Thank you, God, Mary, and Saint Brendan, too!”
Hugh couldn’t resist teasing all these doubting Thomases that he was faced with every day of his life. When were they ever going to have faith in him?
“You might put a little of your thanks to my glib tongue for a change. I told you she would give her blessing. All it ever takes to move Bess is to know how to ask the question. You could do with learning a little diplomacy, O’Toole.”
“Congratulations!” Loghran clapped him on his back, ignoring Hugh’s provoking gibe. “Both of you!”
“Who is the other letter from?” Morgana asked, having to know it all, here and now. Hugh brought the second scroll up from behind her back, where he’d crushed it when he grabbed her to celebrate. He took time to kiss her again, then tapped her nose with the stiff parchment.
“Ah, ah, ah…You know what they say about curious kittens.”
“Well?” Morgana demanded.
“This—” Hugh wagged the document teasingly before her, “—is the wardship of one brat known as the Mulvaine. It authorizes me to arrange her marriage, when the time comes. I’ll put it away, my lady, for another day, long, long into the future. At his age, Sorely can’t live forever. I’ve enough headaches for now, dealing with Dungannon and you.”
“Oh!” Morgana pinched his ribs.
“Now, answer me true, Morgana of Kildare, am I or am I not the answer to all your prayers?”
“Yes.” Morgana’s dimples deepened beautifully. She threw her arms around his neck and declared her love for him before one and all. “I love you, Hugh O’Neill.”
“And I love you, Morgana O’Neill, now and forevermore.”
And at that, the people of Dungannon shouted, “O’Neill, O’Neill, O’Neill!”
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eISBN 978-14592-6784-8
LORD OF THE ISLE
Copyright © 1997 by M. Kaye Garcia
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