Gerald smiled then. “Bring me a quill, lady. And we shall need a messenger, one firmly loyal to us.”
Eleanor returned with quill, inkhorn, and parchment, excitement flickering in her blue eyes. “What do you do, dearest?”
Gerald thought a moment, then began to write. “I do not misjudge men. I am informing the pirate of what happens. If anyone is clever enough—or bold enough—to undo what has been done, ’tis Liam O’Neill.” He smiled at his wife. “There is just enough time, I think, for the missive to find him—and for him to right things gone awry.”
Earic Island, the Atlantic Ocean
The wind was bitterly cold. It was winter’s last gasp and it howled across the barren island, which was not much more than a huge outcropping of rock and stone, although at its southern end a forest of firs braved the wilds, the winds, and the sea. Its beaches were but narrow strips of sand, littered with boulders, butting up against soaring cliffs. The surf was violent, even in summer, a never-ending collision of water upon rock and land. On the island’s northernmost side was a deep harbor, its mouth narrow and guarded with twin towers and cannon. In the harbor theSea Daggerand several other O’Neill ships, all designed for swiftness and battle, bobbed at anchor.
There was a small village near the docks, where the seamen lived and the shipbuilders worked. There, too, were a few wives and a few children and a few whores. There was a blacksmith, a butcher, a baker and miller, a carpenter, and one merchant who sold all manner of goods, as well as several alehouses.
From the village a narrow path twisted up through the cliffs to Liam’s fortress. At the very top, upon a bed of granite, sat the medieval castle. A drawbridge opened across a deep gorge, and one had to pass through a portcullis and barbican in order to enter the high stone walls. Square guard towers with ancient arrow slits dominated the four corners of the fortress. Inside there was a three-storied tower holding a great hall and several other chambers. The fortress had been used by some exiled lord or other pirates in another time. But it had been added onto recently, and a large brick manor abutted the square keep, with windows of glass, not hide. The manor house was gabled, with a steep, tiled roof and five tall chimneys.
Liam had built the house because he hated the loneliness of the ancient keep, which to him seemed dark and haunted. He was not afraid of ghosts, but he had thought that a newer, brighter home would alleviate the feelings of isolation that assailed him whenever he resided on the island. Yet the manor, despite all of its gleaming woodwork and rich upholstery, could not entice him inside. Once, he had tried to live there. To his horror, it had been a far more lonely experience than dwelling in the medieval stone tower.
Liam sat at the heavy, scarred trestle table, alone. Macgregor sat by the fire on a stool, playing a soft tune on bagpipes. The boy, Guy, crouched at Macgregor’s knees, firelight playing over his thin, rapt face. The music was meant to soothe, yet Liam had never been more restless. The days passed slowly, with gaping emptiness. How in God’s name would he endure even another day here if he felt as though he could jump out of his very own skin? He had never hated being island-bound because of the harsh winters before.
Carefully Liam unfolded the letter again. It was from his mother, Mary Stanley, and had been dated two weeks earlier. Although he always visited her when some affair brought him upon England’s soil, this last time he had not. In fact, he had not seen her in a half a year, making him a very poor excuse for a son.
“My dear son, Liam,”she wrote,“As always, you are foremost upon my mind. I trust that all is well with you, that God keeps you safe and out of harm’s way. My dear, please guard yourself well. Remember, I could not bear it should aught happen to you.
“I have heard the latest gossip and in truth, because of our many conversations, I was not that surprised. I should have guessed that this would happen one day. But to abduct the Lady Katherine FitzGerald at sea, as if you were but an evil pirate—and a man like your father?
“Dearest Liam, I know you are not like Shane, that you could never be evil and cruel like him. But ’tis said that Katherine greatly resembles her mother, once both countess of Ormond and Desmond. Well do I remember Joan. She was far more than beautiful, she was strong and intelligent, unusually so. If her daughter resembles her greatly, I fear a great clash of wills betwixt you. Dear Liam, have a care with this girl. Her value to you will far exceed that which is political.
“And remember, too, that Joan was kind to us both when you were but a babe in swaddling. Of all the ladies I met then, in those sad but somehow joyous days (you having been the joy), she was one of the few who were not cruel, who befriended me. I know you would not harm her daughter, Liam, not apurpose. And I understand why you would seize her as you did. Just be temperate, my dear, if you wish to win her, as I suspect you do.
“Hope stirs alongside the love in my breast.”
Liam had read her letter perhaps ten times. And he was ashamed. It was not often that he reflected upon the path of his life with regret, for only fools dwelled on what could not be changed. And although Mary had never openly condemned him for his pirate ways, Liam knew that she secretly wished that he might one day transform himself into a noble and pure English gentleman. Her wishes were impossible, fanciful dreams. He could not undo the fact of who and what his father had been, and undoubtedly Katherine would never forget it. His having been born outside both the English and Irish worlds had forced him to the high seas. Mary knew this as well as he.
Liam folded the letter very carefully and placed it in a small coffer, the kind ladies favored for their jewels, which he then locked. The key he wore on his belt. The coffer he picked up and placed on a sideboard.
Liam began to pace. At least in the past he had but to deal with himself when confronted with the emptiness of his life on the island. He could handle that. But now…now he saw a flame-haired seductress everywhere he went and everywhere he looked. Even his mother wrote of her.
He recalled Katherine’s adamant rejection of his marriage proposal; his face turned red. Both anger and humiliation flooded him. He knew he was too proud to beg her to change her mind, or even to try to change her opinion of him.
Liam faced the fire, reining in his hot emotions with an iron hand. Katherine was now at court, and in this interim, ’twas not a bad place for her to be. The game was moving along now, although no end was yet in sight. But therewould be an ending. Liam wondered, though, if he would take Katherine as his wife against her will when that ending came. Knowing her as he did now, he did not think he could do such a thing. Yet neither could he let her go, especially not to another man. A curse slipped from his lips, breaking the silence of the stone-walled hall.
He paused in his pacing, realizing that Macgregor had ceased playing the pipes, and that both he and the boy watched him. Liam forced a smile for the boy’s benefit. Guy got to his feet. “Captain, sir, is there aught you need?” His anxious gaze was riveted upon Liam’s.
I need a red-haired wench whose lust matches mine, Liam thought. “No, Guy.”
Guy hesitated.
“Sit down and listen to Macgregor play,” Liam said, his tone far too gentle to be a command.
Guy relaxed and obeyed and Macgregor said, “Someone comes.”
Liam had heard the faint tolling of the watchtower bell as well. In winter, the only bell that could be heard was from the tower, because of the shrieking winds. A moment later one of his men entered, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, a cloaked visitor with him. “Captain, sir. ’Tis a messenger for you that has just arrived.”
Liam stared as the messenger took off his hood and gloves, shivering. Undoubtedly he had come to the island aboard the monthly supply ship which Liam dispatched to Belfast. Liam did not recognize the man. He nodded for him to sit, and turned slightly.
His steward had materialized, saw Liam’s look, and hurried out to return with hot, spiced wine and other refreshments. Liam said to his own man, “Jackie, go into the kitchen and warm yourself and if you have not eaten, nourish yourself with hot food.”
The red-cheeked man nodded, disappearing in the steward’s wake.
Liam sat down on the bench across from the messenger. Macgregor had begun to play again, but very softly, and Guy had turned away to face the Scot. Quietly Liam asked, “Who sends you?”
