Chapter Twenty-Three

“Lady MacShane, ’tis to be a fine new moon rising just before daybreak,” Mrs. Mooney said as she laid a wooden plate of oat bread before Deirdre. “There’s nothing quite like a Sabbath moon. A body could do worse than to rise to greet a morning moon.”

Deirdre looked up in surprise, for Mrs. Mooney had seldom spoken to her in the weeks since Killian’s return, and then only when he was not present, as he was now. A single quick nod of the woman’s head confirmed what Deirdre suspected. Word had come that Father Teague would be saying Mass at daybreak somewhere nearby.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mooney. Where do you think would be the best view of such a sight?”

“Och, for a young body such as yerself, ’twould be no great journey to take the path to the top of the mountain beyond the river. Following the right shoulder would bring ye to the top for a grand view.”

“That sounds like a great deal of exercise for a small reward,” Killian said between a bite of oat bread and a sip of buttermilk.

“Perhaps for you it is,” Deirdre replied genially. “But I have not stretched my legs in a great while, I am cramped in every limb. I miss horseback riding most of all.”

Killian gave her a quick warm smile. “Then take the pony.”

Deirdre could not hide her surprise. “Do you mean it?”

Killian nodded. “Would I deny you a rare fine moon rise?”

“Will you come with me, Mrs. Mooney?”

The woman nodded and turned away.

“Then ’tis settled,” Deirdre announced and picked up the first piece of her supper.

“Be careful, mo cuishle,” Killian added in a low voice.

Deirdre glanced at him suspiciously but his expression was bland. “Of course.”

The night dragged by so slowly that Deirdre could barely lie still in bed. She was glad that Killian slept so heavily and soundly beside her, for he would have guessed that she was up to no good had he been aware of her restlessness.

Finally she heard a scraping in the room below and knew that Mrs. Mooney had been awakened either by Dary or by Colin’s wife, Mrs. Ross. Moving as quietly as possible, she slipped out of the bed and was immediately enveloped in the icy breath of darkness. She had placed her clothes on the floor beside the bed so that she would not need a light, and she dressed quickly, adding a woolen shawl over her velvet gown.

“There ye be!” Mrs. Mooney greeted in a loud whisper as Deirdre descended the stairs. “I was about to come up for ye.”

“Will you lace me up the back before we go?” Deirdre asked, lifting her shawl.

Outside, the pony had been bridled and a blanket thrown over his back, and Colin held his head while Enan lifted her onto the animal’s back. “Would ye want to be holding wee Dary, yer ladyship, seeing as ye’re riding?”

Deirdre nodded and took the child Mrs. Mooney held, folding her woolen shawl over his thin garments. “Will Mrs. Ross be coming too?”

Colin shook his head. “His lordship will be waking before we return and wanting his breakfast, no doubt. Sila agreed ’twould be she who stayed. We must go, yer ladyship, or ’tis late we’ll be!”

It was still dark when they set out, but during the twenty minutes of traversing the valley, the black gloom gave way to a blue-gray twilight. Thick white wisps of mist hovered over the path of the river and circled the tops of the trees to the south. As they began to climb, Deirdre finally ceased to shiver with cold. Dary stirred in her arms, his face a pale blue amid the covers.

“Today we’re making a good Catholic of you,” she whispered as she held him tighter. “You must live up to that honor, my bouchal, for ’tis certain a number put themselves in mortal danger for you.”

The pony’s hooves sounded sharply in the silent morning air, each a distinct click upon the granite stones as they climbed.

When at last they reached the shoulder of the hill, the morning sky was bathed in pastel shades of blue, mauve, and rose beneath the deep green sod of the surrounding countryside.

Deirdre did not realize they were not alone until she looked back over the rise and saw other dark shapes like themselves climbing the hill. For an instant fear gripped her, but as she pointed them out to Colin, he merely nodded.

“That’ll be the O’Dineens and the O’Donovans,” he whispered low.

The “church” was nothing more than a deserted hillside, the altar a simple crucifix set up on a huge boulder laid on its side by time. It was a mean and demeaning place for this holiest of rituals, and she wished fervently for the graceful archways and stained-glass windows of a real church.

She did not recognize Father Teague among the dark knots of men and women clustered together, nor, she noticed, did any man speak to another as they took up their positions before the makeshift altar.

Deirdre knelt in the grass with the others, feeling the sharp prick of heather stubs through the velvet of her gown, but she did not give voice to her complaints. Lowering her head, she breathed deeply of the air tinged with salt from the sea more than fifteen miles to the south.

Slowly she began to relax and gradually she took up the ancient psalm that had begun at the far side of the congregation. No one had to warn them to sing softly, but that did not dim the beauty of the tune or the fullness of belief that surrounded her.

If only Killian had come, she thought fleetingly, ashamed now that she had not told him what she intended to do and asked him to join her.

The Mass began without preamble. Suddenly a man in cassock appeared before the altar. He emerged from the crowd and never turned back toward them during the service. When the moment of distribution of the Host came, he pulled his hood forward over his head and stood with his face in shadow. But for his voice intoning, “Corpus Christi,” he might have been no more substantial than the sooty shadow he cast on the dew-drenched grasses.

Following the others, Deirdre knelt before the priest and extended her tongue for the Host.

For an instant the priest did not move, the Host held suspended by his fingers, and Deirdre raised her head to look at him. And then the Host was in her mouth, and he was moving on down the line of kneeling supplicants.

She rose and turned to walk away only to catch her breath in awe.

The moon had risen in the east, a silver crescent illuminating the surrounding clouds tinging their edges rose.

The fragile instant of beauty, of colors and light, went as quickly as it came but not before Deirdre absorbed the moment forever in her memory.

How wrong she had been. The canopy of the heavens was a more lovely and fitting setting for God’s work than any manmade beauty ever could be.

This was why she had come home, to be a part once more of the wild, ever-changing beauty of a land whose heart was not its monuments or its politics but the natural constant vibrancy of its nature and the people who loved it more than bread and hearth.

When the moment came for her to step forward with Dary, she did so proudly and without fear that she would be recognized. If there were spies on this hillside, they could do nothing now. This moment belonged to the honest, God-fearing souls who had risked their lives to be a part of an outlawed worship of God. If only Killian were here, the moment would be perfect.

The priest did not look at her as he performed the baptismal ceremony and Dary was named Dary Finian Fitzgerald, given in foster care to Lady Deirdre Fitzgerald MacShane.

It was over quickly, and before she turned away from the altar, the faithful had begun to disappear into the mists below. The touch at her elbow surprised her and she turned back to face Father Teague.

He had lifted back his cowl and his fair hair hung in damp strings before his brow. “’Tis a brave but dangerous thing you’ve done, taking in an orphan bairn without name or lineage. Any of the folks gathered here this morning would have raised him.”

“But would they have loved him?” Deirdre asked softly.

Teague looked at the woman before him, seeing past her beauty for the first time to her spirit, and he understood why Killian had chosen her. “May God go with you, Lady MacShane,” he said in blessing.

“And you, Father,” Deirdre answered.

The trek home was accomplished more quickly than the journey out; and when Deirdre sat beside Killian, who had waited to share her breakfast, she could hardly contain the joy that filled her.

“You look especially lovely this morning,” he remarked as he gazed at her. “Was the view that fulfilling?”

“Aye, and more,” Deirdre answered.

“Good, then you will have a memory to take with you.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I have said I will not go.”

“You have said a great many things, Dee, but I wonder if you will truly disobey the wishes of your husband?”

Deirdre reached out across the table. “Do not force me to go. Please, Killian. I will be discreet as a mouse. No one will even know I’m here.”

“Not even when you attend Mass on a moonlit hillside?”

Deirdre gasped. “You knew!”

Killian nodded grimly. “I am not a fool, acushla.”

“Why did you not say so and spare me the need for deception?” she retorted.

“Stubborn,” he muttered. “That is why I have decided that you must go to safety. You risk too much, even for my taste.”

“You might have come with me,” she said low.

“But I did.” His hard-featured face was inscrutable. “Who do you think stood at your back while Dary was christened? Who led your pony home?”

“Enan,” she answered faintly.

Killian shook his head. “Enan went ahead to stand watch while Mass was said.”

“But you were here when I entered,” Deirdre protested.

“Two doors,” Killian offered coldly. “So, you are not so clever, Dee, and I cannot spend my days spying upon you. You will pack today and we will leave for Cork in the morning.”

Deirdre stiffened at the rebuke. He was packing her up and sending her off as though she were a naughty child or a faithless wife. “What will you do?”

Killian shrugged. He had yet to make his move against O’Donovan, but his weeks of spying had uncovered dangerous information that could hang the smuggler. “I’ve an interview with the authorities. When I’ve proven myself a loyal subject to the English Crown, I will return to Liscarrol. I must find a way to make a decent living before I can consider sending for you.”

“That could be months!”

“So it could,” he answered heavily.

Deirdre looked at him incredulously. This cold man was the one she had met in her father’s kitchen, had encountered again the day Fey was discovered to be a lass, had faced in Cork the morning she challenged his deceit about the journey to Liscarrol. Each and every time she thought she had his measure, he confounded her. He had lied to her once; he was doing so again. “Did you take an oath of loyalty and embrace a new religion in Cork?”

To her surprise, Killian seemed not at all affected by her words. Except for the shuttering of his gaze by heavy black lashes, he did not move. “I have not, but perhaps I shall do both,” he said in a curt voice.

“I cannot imagine myself wed to a turncoat,” she answered defiantly.

Killian leaned toward her, his face set in lines of anger and some indefinable torment. “Another Bill of Discovery may soon be brought against me. If it is found that Liscarrol exceeds the number of acres a papist is legally entitled to, the land will be confiscated unless I swear my loyalty to the English throne.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I do not care! As much as I love Liscarrol, I love you more. If we must leave, then let’s do so together.”

The speech knocked the force from Killian’s anger. It was the one thing he had never expected to hear from her. The one desire that had never left her, even when she had followed him to Paris, was her wish to live at Liscarrol. His love had not been enough to dissuade her from the goal. It was too much to expect that she had suddenly changed her mind. He must not read too much into her words, he cautioned himself. He must not.

“You speak out of anger and anxiety.” He covered her hand where it lay on the table but his voice was relentless and hard. “I will not lose Liscarrol. It will remain yours as long as I live to hold it!”

Deirdre reached out to him but he was on his feet. “So, you will pack and be ready, at first light.” He strode toward the door. “I must see to a few things. We will talk again at dinner.”

Deirdre sat a moment in stunned sorrow. He was sending her away, and barring an act of outright defiance on her part, she must accept his decision.

“His lordship’s got the right of it. Ye should be safe away afore trouble returns.”

Deirdre looked up to find Mrs. Ross at her elbow. “I do not agree, Mrs. Ross. And another thing, Captain MacShane is not a lord.”

The woman stared at her a long moment before saying, “And yet he’s the look and sound of a lord; and being that he’s snared the heart of a lady, ’twould seem he’s earned the respect of the title.”

Chastened by the woman’s words, Deirdre’s cheeks burned. “I learned long ago that a man’s estate is seldom a fair measure of his worth. My husband is a MacShane, and there was a time when a clan name was enough for an Irishman.”

Mrs. Ross smiled. “Aye, ’tis enough for me. Will ye need me help in packing, yer ladyship?”

Deirdre sadly shook her head. “I will do it myself. Where is Fey? If I am leaving, she must go with me.”

Mrs. Ross’s expression soured. “Well that she should! Me Enan’s a shade too fond of the lass for me liking. She’ll be hanging about, watching him at his chores, while himself struts before her like a cock in the barnyard.”

The rest of the morning passed in uncanny quiet as the promise of a beautiful dawn turned into a steady downpour that grayed the sky and hills and valley until the view from the windows of Liscarrol was that of a single, vast, colorless expanse.

When Fey returned at mid-afternoon, she was unusually subdued; and though they did not speak of it, Deirdre knew that Killian had informed Fey that she was to leave Liscarrol also.

Dusk came quickly, changing the pale grayness to smoke and laying deep purple shades among the shadows.

The heavy pounding at the door came only an instant before Mrs. Ross appeared from the rear of the house.

“That’ll be Oadh O’Donovan himself,” she announced loudly and then melted away as quickly as she had come.

Killian smiled briefly at Deirdre as he rose from their evening meal. “Better than a hound, that woman.”

“Och! ’Tis a devil of an evening to be abroad,” O’Donovan announced when he was shown into the Great Hall. Rain streamed from his cloak and ran in rivulets from his bare head. “Will ye not be offering a man a seat by yer hearth, MacShane?”

“That depends upon the reason for your visit,” Killian answered, blocking his path with a wide-legged stance.

O’Donovan looked over Killian’s shoulder to where Deirdre sat. “A good evening to ye, lass. Will ye offer a neighbor a dry spot out of the rain?”

“Lady MacShane will do as I wish,” Killian answered for her. “What brings you here on such a night, O’Donovan? Have you come to bait your trap?”

O’Donovan’s brows rose in amazement. “Musha! Would I then be knocking and paying me respects?”

“Perhaps,” Killian replied, but he stood aside.

O’Donovan stomped his feet and swung his sodden cloak from his shoulders, dropping it on the slate floor. His gaze moved greedily over the contents of the table as he came forward. “It would nae come amiss, a piece of that bread, la—yer ladyship.”

Deirdre pushed the bowl toward him with two fingers, refusing to serve him. As Killian stood by, he helped himself and ate two large pieces of oat bread in as many bites. When he reached for the third, Killian’s hand shot out and moved the dish from under his grasp.

“I did not invite you to dine. Tell me why you’re here, or go the way you came.”

O’Donovan’s pale eyes gleamed in the meager light. “So, ’tis to be that way. Fair enough. I came to warn ye that English soldiers are once more in the valley.”

Killian met his sly gaze with a wintry look. “You bastard!”

“Well, that’s fine thanks! Did ye think I would nae come to warn ye if they were after ye? As they’re nae hunting ye, I thought ye’d care to know that, too. There’s nae pleasing some.” He straightened himself to his full height. “And ye can be certain there’ll be no more warnings.”

“Who are they after?” Deirdre questioned as the two men glared at each other.

He turned a wide grin on her. “Ye being a daughter of the Sidhe and an early riser on new-mooned Sabbaths, I thought ye would know. There’re hounds abroad asniffing and abaying for blood.” He leaned toward her. “Who’s blood do they howl for, beanfeasa?”

She realized several things at once: that O’Donovan knew of her journey to the hillside Mass; that her fear of spies among the communicants had been a legitimate concern; and that O’Donovan’s news was connected to the event. “The English hunt a priest.”

O’Donovan chuckled with glee. “There! Did I nae say you’d know the answer? And not just any priest. ’Tis a certain scoundrel going by the name of Teague O’Donovan.” He winked at Killian. “The English have it on good authority that he’s a smuggler as well as a rapparee.”

“But that cannot be true!” Deirdre shot to her feet. “He’s a kind and gentle man whom I doubt is worldly enough to understand the full peril in which he stands. That’s true, isn’t it, Killian?”

Killian watched O’Donovan. There was a trap for him in this, he could smell it. But when and how would it be sprung?

O’Donovan rubbed his bearded chin. “I will be going now, for a man knows when he’s outstayed his welcome.” He started toward the door but then turned back. “A last word to ye. I would nae open me doors to another knock this night.” He stared pointedly at Killian. “Cousin Teague is of a mind that he has friends among the local gentry. I would nae want ye to be hanged for harboring a criminal.” With his cloak flung carelessly over his shoulder, he descended the stairwell.

“What does he mean?” Deirdre questioned when Killian bolted the door and returned. “Will Father Teague come here?”

“No,” Killian replied curtly. “That he will not!”

As Deirdre watched, he drew his cloak from a peg and settled it about his shoulders.

“What are you doing? You can’t be thinking of trying to find Father Teague.”

“That is exactly what I’m planning to do,” Killian replied. He took his pistol from his belt and began reloading it. “You will not be aware of it because there’s been no time to tell you, but Teague and I are childhood friends.” He looked up from his work with a small smile. “But for a chance encounter with a wild-haired lass of seven, I might be wearing a cassock like his today.”

“Why did he not tell me?” Deirdre felt faintly betrayed by both men.

“I would not allow it. Teague is a man of odd temperament. He’s a dreamer, a fanciful man of strong ideals but little common sense. No man in Munster would trust O’Donovan; but Teague has, and how his cousin has betrayed him.”

Deirdre gnawed her lip. She did not understand all that Killian told her, but one thing was vividly clear. “So you will risk your life to save Father Teague.”

It was a statement requiring no answer, so Killian said nothing. O’Donovan had known he would, too. That was why he had brought the news himself. No doubt he hoped the English would catch the priest and the owner of Liscarrol together and hang them both.

“You might be killed or at the very least arrested. If you’re caught, you will be charged with abetting a priest.”

Killian looked up again, his work finished, and slipped his pistol back into his belt. His expression was grim. “Why did you not think of that the morning you sneaked away from me to attend Mass? What I do, I do with your knowledge.”

“It makes it no less dangerous,” she said.

“No,” he answered unhelpfully and belted on his sword.

“Let me go with you.”

Killian looked up sharply, as though she had struck him with a stick, and then his expression turned gentle and he shook his head. “No, lass.”

“I’m a fair shot,” Deirdre insisted. “I’ve held the English at bay once already. You’d have been proud of me.”

“So Mrs. Ross said,” he answered with a warming grin.

“Mrs. Ross said?” Deirdre echoed. “She’s never had a pleasant word to say to me in all these months.”

“There you’re wrong. You quite astonished her that particular day, and don’t think the whole valley doesn’t know of it. Not a week past, Cuan O’Dineen offered his respects to you for your fine accounting with the soldiers. Do not allow it to go to your head, however. I, for one, was not amused.”

“Perhaps Father Teague will come to us if we wait,” Deirdre offered.

“He will not. I know where he is.”

“Where is that?”

Killian gazed at her and said, his voice cool, “There are things a man may not tell even his wife.”

“You do not trust me!” Deirdre said stiffly.

Killian turned away. “’Tis not a matter of trust. ’Tis a matter of survival, and not only our own.” He turned to Mrs. Ross, who had again appeared in the Great Hall. “Stay here. Stay quiet. And keep the doors locked against all comers until I return.”

“Aye, yer lordship,” she answered as she opened the door to allow him to depart.

“He did not even say goodbye,” Deirdre murmured forlornly.

“’Tis no reason,” Mrs. Ross answered with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “He’s nae going away. He’s riding out a bit, ’tis all.”

“Riding?” Deirdre questioned, but Mrs. Ross was already halfway across the room and did not turn back.

Deirdre hurried to the stairwell and climbed to the second floor, where the view from one window was that of the stable.

It was that short space of time between twilight and nightfall when the world is purple. The shape that bolted from the stable into the night was blackness itself against the softer, dusky violet darkness. A swirl of black cape over the horse’s flank gave the pair a nightmarish quality.

For an instant, Deirdre stood rooted to the spot as horse and rider galloped out over the bridge and into the valley. She did not need to see the rider’s face, nor did she need the answer to the question of where the horse had come from. She simply knew, and the knowledge made her blood still in her veins. The rider hidden beneath the black-winged cloak was Killian, the rider of her dreams.

She did not cry out or even hurry down the stairs. She dressed quickly but methodically in her riding boots and heaviest wool gown before tying a woolen mantle across her breasts and binding her hair back with a strip of cloth. She reached for the ancient O’Neill dagger last, slipping it into her waistband.

When she reached the first floor she saw Mrs. Ross. “Mrs. Ross! Send your husband for Cuan O’Dineen. Tell him that Father Teague has been betrayed and that English soldiers have come for him. My husband has ridden out to warn the priest, but he must not stand alone. Tell Cuan ’tis his moment to clear himself with me in the matter of the hanged child. He’ll know what I mean.”

“Where are ye going, ma’am?”

“To find Killian. O’Donovan will betray him, too!”

*

Beyond the bridge, the valley quickly gave way under his horse’s hooves to a steep climb. It had ceased to rain in the few short minutes between O’Donovan’s departure and Killian’s own, but the difference was negligible, he decided as the thick mists clung and ran down his exposed face. His cloak drew heavier with every moment, and the boggy ground sucked noisily at his horse’s hooves as it struggled up the climb. Killian held the horse with an easy rein, allowing it to pick its path by instinct over the dark, rock-strewn ground.

He knew where to find Teague, thanks to Colin Ross’s quick eye. Colin had seen the priest climbing the hill just before dark. It was known that on nights such as this, the priest chose to sleep in the open, offering up, like some ancient monk of old, the night’s discomforts as penance.

“Gom!” Killian muttered as his mount slipped and nearly went down. If not for the need for speed, he would have left the horse behind. Colin kept it in the hills, pasturing beside the cattle. It was an advantage that only he and Colin were aware of, and one that might foil O’Donovan’s plot. For Teague to elude the soldiers he would need to be mounted, as they were.

The wind whipped his cloak mercilessly, promising more rain before long. As he reached the shoulder of the hill, Killian reined in his mount and stood in the stirrups to search the area. Behind and below him Liscarrol stood like a block of black stone. Before him, the hill curved gently away to the right and rose toward another, higher crest to the left. He followed the slope to the right, riding through the soft wet air toward the granite outcrop that had served as an altar a few weeks earlier.

The sound of a horse slowly picking its way across the ground nearby pulled Teague O’Donovan from his prayers. No one ever came up to visit him on these nights unless there was danger. He rose slowly to his knees from a position of prayer in the mud and saw a rider approaching. He waited, kneeling in the shadow of the huge stone, knowing that if he did not move the rider might pass him by without ever detecting his presence.

The rider paused, twisting about in his saddle. “Teague O’Donovan,” the rider called out softly as he looked blindly around.

Teague lifted back the cowl of the heavy robe he wore and rose to his feet with relief. “Here! MacShane!”

Killian threw a leg over his saddle and slipped to the ground before the shadow that was the priest. “The English know you’re abroad. You must take my horse and ride south!”

Teague put a hand on Killian’s arm. “How do you know? Have they been to Liscarrol?”

“No. Oadh O’Donovan came.”

Teague nodded slowly. “Then there’s time. I thank you for the warning, but I do not believe I could be safer than I am here in the open with the rain and darkness to cover my tracks. By morning, it will be as though I never passed this way.”

“Thanks to your kinsman, you will nae have the luxury of the night. O’Donovan’s a Discoverer.”

It was a foul thing to call a man, even an enemy. It was an insult few would suffer at a kinsman’s expense. When Teague did not decry his statement instantly, Killian knew he was believed.

“How long have you suspected him?” Teague asked quietly.

“He’s a thief, a coward, and a murderer. I suspected him of everything,” Killian said.

Teague shook his head again, though he knew it could not be seen. “I, too, wondered. Recently there’s a malignancy to the air when O’Donovan is near.”

“Aye,” Killian replied. “O’Donovan will have given them directions here. I’ve brought the horse. Take him west until you reach Bantry Bay. There are men there who will take you across to France.”

Teague fell back a step. “They will betray me. They are O’Donovan’s men.”

Killian squelched the prick of annoyance at the quaver of fear in the priest’s voice. “Think, man! Would O’Donovan tell them of his dealings with the English? They’d murder him if they knew he’d betrayed even one of them, and he has. I’ve learned much there these last weeks.”

Fear trickled down his spine like rain. “I am not a brave man, MacShane. I do God’s work because I fear not to. Perhaps He despises my good deeds because they are a product of my fear rather than my faith. If I remain, fear rattling my teeth in my head, perhaps then He will disdain me no longer.”

Killian loosened a string of oaths that made the priest in Teague shy away. “Damn you for a martyr! But you’ll not be so on my property.”

He ripped his cloak from his shoulders as he continued. “What do you think the English will do to my wife and the others if you’re found on Liscarrol land? Will you have their murders on your conscience because you fear you’re nae brave enough to suit your impression of a warrior priest?”

He stripped off his jacket and then his shirt, throwing them at the priest’s feet. “Take off your robe and put on my clothes. Do it, damn you, or I’ll throttle you myself!”

Because he had never been able to defend himself against MacShane, Teague stripped off his robe and began replacing them with Killian’s finer garments.

Killian slipped on the sodden, malodorous robe made of unwashed wool and muttered an oath as shivers of cold raced across his skin. “’Tis like old times, Teague, when we were lads shut behind the monastery walls. I feel the weight of my sins hard upon me. Let us hope they do not catch up with me this night. I do not relish greeting Saint Peter in a monk’s disguise.”

To Teague’s amazement, Killian laughed, low but easily. “You were always the brave one among us,” he whispered.

Killian grinned. “’Tis because I feared that nothing would ever happen to me, locked behind those cloistered walls.”

“While I feared constantly that one day they would open and eject me,” Teague admitted bitterly. “You’re the better man.”

Killian sobered. “How can that be when God chose you? You’ve taken the harder road, Teague; I’ve no doubt of it. And if saving you goes a little way toward mitigating the harm I’ve done, then you’ve that to your credit besides.”

Teague stared through the dark at his childhood friend, humbled and flattered in the same instant. “Your lady wife, I misjudged her. I thought she’d come to stir up the ancient beliefs. I—”

“Tell her yourself, another time,” Killian said tersely. “Give me your boots.”

“I wear none,” Teague answered.

Killian considered relinquishing his but changed his mind as he thought of covering the rocky, boggy ground on foot. Bending over, he began to rubbing his boot soles with a sleeve of the robe.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving me boots your scent,” Killian answered. “Your robe should lead the hounds my way once they pick up your scent from this spot.”

“What will you do if they catch you?”

Killian chuckled. “’Twould be more than O’Donovan hopes for, but in less than an hour I will be safe abed beside my wife while your robe lies on the bottom of the river, weighted by stones. The hounds may lead them to Liscarrol but they won’t cross the bridge.”

The daring plot made even Teague smile. “Perhaps you, not your wife, has a bit of magic. I’d nae have thought of that.”

“It has yet to work,” Killian reminded him as he pressed a gun in the man’s hand and pushed him toward the horse. “Ride back to the crest of the hill and then turn west, over Nowen Hill, toward Bantry.”

Teague looked down. “You’ll be in my prayers every day of my life.”

“Live long, then, Teague, for I’ve need of Divine forgiveness,” Killian retorted cheerfully and slapped the horse’s rump.

“Bless you, my son!” Teague called back as the horse moved back up the hill.

“Ride, Father, like the hounds of hell pursue you,” Killian murmured as the man and horse disappeared into the night.

*

Deirdre lost sight of the rider after he crossed the bridge, but some sixth sense sent her up the side of the hill where Mass had been said. It seemed not unreasonable that Father Teague might still be nearby. But she had none of the advantage of daylight or guides or a pony. As she traversed the rocky ground on foot she hoped she would not become hopelessly lost.

“Merde!” she swore as she stepped up to her ankle in a muddy hole for the third time.

Rain was falling again, a soft steady hiss that drowned out the small sounds of the night and made her view of the ground before her even more difficult. Her woolen skirts greedily soaked up the brown water until they dragged at her like weights and her back began to ache from the strain. As if in mockery of her misery, a star occasionally winked at her from a break in the clouds. She waded on, arms outstretched to keep her balance.

She knew she should turn back, that an irrational moment of surprise had brought her out on a very dangerous night, but she could not shake the bond with her dream. It had ridden at the edge of her consciousness for as long as she could remember. She had not been asleep this time, had not even been daydreaming. Killian had been real. She had seen him leave.

Finally the crest of the hill loomed ahead, its irregular stone shape a welcome sight. And then she heard the rumble.

The wind whipped up suddenly, whistling past the stone tor and raking her hair back from her face. In its wake, the wind carried the thunder of hooves.

The specter appeared out of the gloom of night, suddenly cresting the hill and then plunging down it directly toward her.

Deirdre stopped, her heart pounding in rhythm to the hooves, and she lifted her arms with the cry, “Wait! Wait!”

Teague O’Donovan expected to encounter no one on the hillside. Killian’s warning had come soon enough, he told himself. But suddenly there was a figure blocking his path, waving its arms and crying out in alarm.

“Stay away! Stay away!”

He tried to rein in, but the horse, frightened by the sudden voice before him, reared and then plunged on down the hillside.

He did not see the figure again, but the chill in his veins told him that he had seen one of the Daoine Sidhe. He rode on, crossing himself and praying fervently that he would never again encounter one.

Deirdre lay in the grass a long while, her eyes open to the night. She did not feel pain. The horse’s hoof had caught her a glancing blow. By all rights, she should have been trampled to death. Once more, she had encountered her dream. Yet, this time it had been different.

She stared at the sky above her, at the many stars spangled behind the thin veiling of scattered clouds.

It had not been Killian.

The rider had turned to her at the last moment, his head gleaming palely in the gloom. The man had been fair-haired. It could not have been Killian.

The faint squishing sounds of footsteps nearby brought her alert. Her heart in her throat, she stared at the dark sky, wondering if she would be discovered. But the footsteps passed by in the rapid rhythm of a person on a journey elsewhere.

When the footsteps died, she sat up only to gasp in pain. Her shoulder! The horse had not missed her entirely. She forced herself upright, gritting her teeth as the pain knifed down between her shoulder blades. Very carefully she moved her hand, then bent her arm at the elbow, and finally lifted her arm, sobbing a little when she realized that her shoulder was not dislocated.

Moving stiffly, she rose to her feet. There was no point in going on. The rider and the footsteps had convinced her that the hillside was too dangerous a place to remain.

She made her way down much more quickly than she had made her way up, using Liscarrol as a beacon. The rain had ceased again, and this time the starry night held its own against the wind-borne clouds.

Deirdre did not stop until she reached the river and saw the figure of a man standing in the tall grasses that grew along the bank. Too afraid to cross the rickety bridge lest it creak under her weight and alert the man of her presence, she crouched behind a rock and waited, her teeth aching from clenching them against the pain in her shoulder.

As she watched, the man pulled a robe-like garment over his head. Was it Father Teague? She nearly called out but fear held her back. She heard him shuffling about in the dark and then a short silence followed. He repeated his actions several times and then he stood. She heard a gentle splash followed by a second, louder one, and she knew that he had dived or fallen into the river.

She waited, shivering in her damp clothes, until she heard a scrambling sound on the far bank and realized that he had swum across. He was a dark hump moving up the riverbank and then he disappeared.

Every muscle in her body protested as she rose from her crouch, but then she dropped back again as another shadow detached itself from the river’s edge.

Deirdre rubbed her eyes with a weary hand. Was she dreaming? Was she delirious, or did Liscarrol swarm with spies and secrets?

When she lifted her head again, she was surprised to see a man on the bridge, sauntering across its creaky surface as though he were an expected guest. It was too dark to see his coloring or clothing.

Once more, she rose painfully to her feet. If she could just reach the house, the turf fire, the warmth of Mrs. Ross’s porridge, she would never disobey Killian again. Her thoughts were childlike and she knew it, but she hurt so much, was so tired and frightened. When she was a child, there had been Da and Darragh and Conall to keep her from making mistakes. Perhaps Killian was right. Perhaps she should go back to France where she would not cause him any more anxiety.

Her cheeks burned, but the rest of her body felt icy cold as she hurried across the bridge. Mrs. Ross waited inside, she told herself, but as she neared the castle the shiver worsened until she heard the strange sound of her teeth chattering.

Something was wrong. The very scent of danger was in the air. Had the black-cloaked rider appeared in the yard before her now, she would have sighed in relief, for it would have been preferable to the feeling of clear and present danger that puckered her skin and made her stomach quiver.

She backed away from the front door. Not that way, her instinct whispered. Too quiet. Too still. Something is wrong.

She glanced at the darkened stable in the distance but there was no sound, no sign of life. Colin and the others had disappeared. If the English soldiers had come, it would be impossible to hide the fact. The danger lay somewhere else.

Where were the two men she had seen? Who were they?

As another draft of anxiety swept her, Deirdre reached for the O’Neill skean, pulling it free. Brigid had warned her of danger, and she had thought that the danger was bound up in her phantom horseman. Now she was no longer certain of that fact.

Keeping in the shadow of the castle walls, she made her way to the servants’ entrance in the rear. The kitchen was dark. Mrs. Ross had finished for the night. Deirdre crossed the floor, her heart beating frantically against her ribs.

The opening to the narrow stairwell yawned menacingly before her but she stepped in after only a moment’s hesitation and began to climb. As she reached the second floor she heard voices coming from the Great Hall and with a leap of joy she recognized one of them as Killian’s. She tucked her skean away and would have stepped into the room had not a second voice stopped her.

“So Cousin Teague’s safe away. Och! ’Tis sad news, I’m thinking. The English will be expecting to capture a priest. O’Donovan’s never steered them wrong yet.”

O’Donovan!

“What will you do?” she heard Killian reply in his most careless of voices. “Conjure one from thin air?”

“Strange, yer saying that, for ’tis exactly what I will do, laddie. It came to me at the riverbank that one man or another, who’s to tell them different?” There was a pause while something was flung upon the floor.

“Teague’s robes. You followed me,” Killian said.

“’Twas a bit of luck, that. I was spying on the castle in case Teague came back with ye. A clever disguise. ‘Tis what put me in mind of another trick. Ye’re of a similar height with Teague, for all he was as thin as skimmed milk. The English want a priest; I will give them you.”

As Deirdre heard Killian’s laughter, chills raced along her spine. She pressed herself to the wall. A cold breeze yawned up past her and she turned to look down the stairwell but it was too late. A blackness rose up before her and a hand pressed the scream back in her throat.

“You forget I’m a married man,” Killian said.

O’Donovan chuckled in return. “So ye’ve come to Ireland with a wife? Who’s to say different if I tell the English ’twas a trick to cover yer papist preaching ways? Bring a wife and nae man looks for the priest in that. The English will look at one another and wonder that they had nae thought of that deception before. Clever? Aye, O’Donovan’s a clever man. Did I nae tell ye so?”

“I’ll deny it.”

“Sure’n ye will, but the English believe in law and order. They’ll be wanting a confession before ye ever come to trial. Torture’s a terrible thing, I hear. Ye may find yerself believing the truth of the charge before ye know it. Not every priest’s a man of iron and honor. Some go to the stake with their heads high, others cry as pitifully as any wee bairn. ’Tis the same with thieves and smugglers and—”

“Discoverers,” Killian offered.

“Well now, I’d nae be knowing that sort. Still ye should know, none in the valley will testify for ye. They’d be confessing that they know the identity of a real priest, and for that they’d hang.”

“You seem to have thought of everything.”

“I’ll be taking that as a compliment. Come the morning, I’ll be telling the valley that ’twas ye who were the Discoverer, and O’Donovan did nae more or less than best ye at yer own game!” He chuckled at his own cleverness.

“What of my wife?”

O’Donovan shrugged. “I’m nae a man to bother the Sidhe, but she’s a clever sort and could make trouble. She seems a high-strung lass. Who knows but what the news of yer arrest will nae make her mad. One mad lass drowned outside her door a few weeks past. I would nae be at all surprised were yer wife to fling herself in the river and drown herself dead!”

“She’d be a stupid bitch to do that. Ye’re growing lax, O’Donovan. The lady was spying on ye.” Cuan O’Dineen stepped from the stairwell, pushing Deirdre before him with a hand still clapped over her mouth.

“Deirdre!”

O’Donovan swung his pistol toward Killian. “Do nae bestir yerself, MacShane. The lady’s right as rain, isn’t she, O’Dineen?”

The smaller man gave a single ominous bob of his head.

Deirdre strained against the hard hand gripping her, but Cuan whispered low, “Yer husband’s a nervous man.

’Twould nae do for him to get his head blown off for lack of manners on yer part.” Deirdre stilled. “Aye, better, yer ladyship.”

“Hurt her and I’ll kill you,” Killian said softly, his gaze swinging between the two men.

“Such heat,” O’Donovan said mockingly. “’Twould sound better were ye properly dressed, MacShane. Yer lady wife is blushing with shame to see ye standing as God made ye.” He kicked the robe with his boot toe. “Put it on, lad. May as well wear it now as later.”

Killian bent to pick up the sodden garment. O’Donovan had found him before he could dress after his swim.

O’Donovan swung about as voices came from the yard below. “That’ll be the soldiers.”

“Nae, that’ll be our people,” Cuan O’Dineen answered.

O’Donovan swung toward Cuan with a startled, angry look. “They were told to keep to their homes tonight. Any man out will be hunted by the English.”

“There’s talk abroad, Oadh,” Cuan said slowly, solemnly. “Talk of treachery.”

“Of course! Did I nae tell ye the English are hunting Father Teague?”

“So ye did, but ye did nae say why.”

O’Donovan pointed at Killian with the barrel of his pistol. “There’s yer answer. He’s a Discoverer. Ye were the one to alert us to his coming. Well, I’ve been keeping watch.”

Victory beating high in him, O’Donovan found the final damning stroke as he pointed to the sodden priest’s robe on the floor. “There’s proof, if ye need it. He tied stones in the cloth and heaved it in the river. I suspect he’s killed poor Father Teague, played the hound’s part for his English masters.”

“That’s a lie,” Killian answered calmly but firmly.

A shadow appeared in the stairwell behind Cuan and became Colin Ross. Behind him another figure appeared, revealing itself as his son Enan.

“Did the others come?” Cuan asked over his shoulder.

“They’ve come,” Colin answered.

“And the other one?” Cuan pressed.

Enan smiled. “Safe away.”

Deirdre was released so suddenly that she lurched forward, but a steadying hand caught her from behind. “There’s nae need to be afraid,” Cuan said behind her. “I have only one thing to ask ye, Lady MacShane. Who’s the Discoverer?”

Deirdre stared at O’Donovan. He was perspiring, the sweat running freely over his big red face. She thought of his fear, for she had known a good measure of her own this night. And then she thought of the pathetic bag of skin and bones that had once been a child, a child dead because of Oadh O’Donovan. “I do not know if he is a Discoverer,” she said softly, “but I know he set the English on Father Teague.”

“Go to your man, Lady MacShane,” Cuan said. “Go to him and stay beside him.”

Deirdre started toward Killian but he held up a hand. “Stay away, mo cuishle!”

“What’s this?” O’Donovan roared. “Nae man orders me prisoners about.”

Cuan stepped forward, a skean in his hand. “There’s a traitor among us, Oadh, a traitor who’s lain on his belly among the flock, awaiting and awaiting. He kills only when the shepherd turns his back to scan the distant hills for the enemy.”

“MacShane,” O’Donovan said with a grin.

“Nae, Oadh. The wolf among us wears our wool, eats our food, kills his neighbor. The Discoverer is you!”

O’Donovan wet his lips nervously. It took a few moments for Cuan’s words to fully sink in. “Ye do nae know what ye say. MacShane’s the man ye want. The English will come and take him away.”

“The English want O’Donovan the smuggler and rapparee. Ye’ve done enough murdering among yer own,” Colin Ross said in a harsh voice. “There’ll be nae more of it!”

O’Donovan turned his pistol on the knot of men. “Ye can prove nothing.”

“We’ve yer own words to hang ye,” Cuan answered. “Didn’t I hear ye just now, boasting to MacShane how ye’ve the ear of the English? How is it, Oadh, that ye’ve never been caught unawares?”

“I’m more clever than the rest,” O’Donovan boasted; but his hands had begun to sweat, and his forehead gleamed in the firelight.

“Not clever enough,” Enan Ross shouted and stepped forward. “We met Father Teague on the road. He was wearing MacShane’s clothing, riding MacShane’s horse. A man put the English on his trail this night. You! Discoverer!”

O’Donovan paled at the accusation, his eyes turning panicky until he realized that the boy held no weapon.

“Gommach! Ye know less than a beetle on a dunghill. The English will hang MacShane, and that’ll be an end of it.”

“There’ll be an end,” Cuan agreed. “Open the doors, lad.”

O’Donovan turned his pistol on Enan as he backed toward the stairwell that led to the third floor, repeatedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ye’re making a mistake. ’Tis I who brought prosperity to ye! Who helps ye smuggle in the goods that keep yer bellies filled and yer women and children clothed?”

But they were not listening to him. Someone else had thrown the bolt on the front doors and the sound of many footsteps was heard on the main stairwell.

“They’ve come for ye, Discoverer!” Cuan announced.

O’Donovan fired the pistol at Enan. It was a desperate, hopeless measure, yet he hoped it would give him time to gain the stairs to the third floor. But, as he turned in to the dark turret, a knife flashed out, slashing him across the cheek, and he fell back with a cry of horror.

Fey leaped from the stairwell with an unearthly cry as she ran to where Enan had fallen.

The others were on O’Donovan instantly, and he was dragged backward onto the slate floor.

“Not here!” Killian had said nothing since he first saw Deirdre in the doorway. Now his voice cut across their fighting and the men turned to him. “Take him out! I will not have my wife’s home defiled!”

They gathered O’Donovan’s flailing arms and legs and lifted him screaming above their heads as they carried him down the stairwell and out into the night.

“They will kill him!” Deirdre cried.

Killian enfolded her tightly against him. “Aye. May God rest his black soul.”

Deirdre turned her face into the hollow of Killian’s left shoulder as a bloodchilling scream rose up beyond the door. Another followed it, and then other, weaker cries that were soon drowned out by the shouts and oaths of the mob.

Killian’s hands came up to cover her ears, and Deirdre closed her eyes, concentrating on the strong, slightly rapid rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.

It was over quickly. The noise ebbed away until the night rang with silence. After a long moment, Killian’s hands eased their tight hold, but his face was hard as he gazed beyond the open doorway.

“Now there’s only the English to deal with,” he murmured to himself.