The Faithful Heart (41 page)

 

 

She wondered what Ruairc must be thinking as he stared at her, his
green eyes glittering in the candlelight.

 

 

“Never mind about the gown now, Morgana,” Brendan counselled as he
led her into the room and threw a warm cloak over her shoulders and
tucked it around her neck to cover her breasts.

 

 

“Morgana, we have a visitor who would like to see you, and wish us
well for our upcoming marriage. Will you please speak to him, for my
sake?” Brendan coaxed softly.

 

 

“If it pleases you.” Morgana smiled up at Brendan winningly. “Who is
this friend?”

 

 

“It's Ruairc, my dear,” Brendan said quietly.

 

 

Morgana stepped back.

 

 

“Brendan how could you ask me to speak to him of all people, the
coldblooded murderer of my brother!” Morgana gasped, though she
winked at Ruairc.

 

 

“Morgana, please, I just wanted to see how you were....” Ruairc
began.

 

 

She could see the warning looks Brendan was casting in his
direction.

 

 

“Morgana, there's no need to be so agitated. He just wants to wish
us well. Ruairc, Morgana tells us you have been in Dublin. Do your
fortunes prosper?” Brendan smiled.

 

 

“I haven’t made my fortune yet, but I intend to,” Ruairc declared.

 

 

“Please, I am a bit fatigued.May we sit down?” Morgana requested,
and held out a hand to be guided to a seat. Ruairc took it hastily,
and Morgana squeezed it with all her might, willing him to continue
with her ruse

 

 

“And tell me how Aofa and my father fare in Dublin? Have you seen
much of them, Ruairc? Or is it that my father cannot bring himself
to forgive you either?” she asked coldly.

 

 

“They are well,” Ruairc replied mechanically, as he wondered at the
vice-like grip.

 

 

“Perhaps the delights of the fair city have helped him recover from
his grief. He does love Dublin so,” Morgana stated conversationally.

 

 

Ruairc let her rattle on after that, for he knew she was putting on
a performance for Brendan's benefit, the point of which he could
only begin to guess.

 

 

“Ah, but then of course, though he enjoys himself in Dublin, he
can’t wait to get home to hunt. And his favourite dish simply can’t
be made in the city the way Mary does it here at home, wild boar
with prune sauce,” Morgana turned to explain to Brendan.

 

 

Brendan listened to Morgana’s seemingly idle chatter, and began to
relax since it did not appear to pose any threat.

 

 

“Do you think Father will return for my forthcoming nuptials?”
Morgana asked suddenly.

 

 

Brendan sat upright and shook his head.

 

 

“No, as you say, though he is not angry with me any longer, his
grief is still keen. And Aofa will no doubt be having such a
splendid time with your cousins that she may not deign to return
either,” Ruairc said smoothly with a telling glance at Brendan.

 

 

“In that case, though I hate to ask this under the circumstances, as
my father’s favourite foster son, and eldest male in our family
circle, you will have to give me away at my wedding ceremony,”
Morgana said quietly. “There is little time to make other
arrangements, and the convent no longer seems to be a sensible
option for me,” Morgana said with emphasis on the words ‘time,’
‘convent’ and ‘option.’

 

 

Ruairc began to get the drift of her message, but all the same,
Brendan was staring at him, waiting for a response to Morgana’s
outrageous request.

 

 

“You can’t seriously expect me to stand by and allow you to marry my
brother?”

 

 

Morgana nodded. “I do expect it, for the good of both clans.”

 

 

"But--"

 

 

“If you won’t do it, I shall have to find some one else, but in
front of all the assembled clans I want everyone to know who my
choice of husband is, so there will be no disputes or ill feeling.
Brendan, you will of course allow our parish priest Father Doyle to
preside over the ceremony, and of course it must be at Lisleavan.”

 

 

Brendan’s smile froze on his face. “But dearest, you are not well
enough, and....” he began to protest.

 

 

“Tradition dictates that the wedding must be paid for by the bride’s
family. As long as Ruairc is here with my housekeeper Mary, they
won’t mind escorting me home to Lisleavan, where I can get a proper
gowns and so on, and make the necessary arrangements,” Morgana said
cleverly.

 

 

“I-I, um, don’t think you are up to it, your fall, your blindness,”
Brendan stammered.

 

 

“But Brendan, you can’t wait on me hand and foot like a servant, and
arrangements must be made. If we have a quiet wedding, everyone will
think we have done something amiss. All the clans must be gathered
for it,” Morgana maintained firmly.

 

 

A groan from Dermot in the next room determined Brendan’s course of
action.

 

 

“My brother Dermot would never allow it. Your family is still in
mourning over your brother’s death, so the wedding will be here in a
week’s time,” Brendan stated in a tone which brooked no refusal.

 

 

“Do you accept this, Morgana? Are you willing to marry this man?”
Ruairc asked with seeming anger.

 

 

“I know you're upset, Ruairc, but by the end of the week you will
simply have to accept where things stand, as will both clans.”
Morgana smiled softly, and gazed up into his emerald eyes.

 

 

Ruairc stared into Morgana’s eyes for a few more moments, trying to
read them clearly, and then said with apparent reluctance, “I shall
give you away then. I will be back at eleven on Saturday morning,
and shall bring Father Doyle and some of the other men with me.”

 

 

“A small wedding, remember, Ruairc,” Brendan cautioned, and then
called for Ruairc’s horse.

 

 

“Keep an eye on the convents and monasteries. I have no idea when
the Spanish are arriving, but your brothers are expecting them any
day now,” Morgana murmured quickly as Brendan left the room for a
moment.

 

 

“But you’re hurt, your sight,” Ruairc protested.

 

 

“It’s nothing to worry about.‘Tis mostly pretence. Aofa did it, not
Brendan, so don’t waste your anger on him. He is merely Dermot’s
puppet. But you must get me out of here somehow, and we must warn
everyone of what they intend,” Morgana instructed in an undertone.

 

 

“I love you,” Ruairc whispered, squeezing her arm.

 

 

“So nice to see you again, Ruairc,” Morgana said flatly, as Dermot
groaned again, and Brendan returned to the room.

 

 

“Are you leaving, Ruairc?” Brendan asked none too subtly.

 

 

“I'm just going now, Brendan.Look after Morgana well,” Ruairc
cautioned. "She is a rare treasure."

 

 

“I shall, Ruairc, believe me. She is a treasure beyond belief,” the
younger man gloated.

 

 

He bowed, and then Ruairc was gone.

 

 

“Dermot is waking up. We had better get him to his room, and I think
perhaps I had better avoid him for a few days.” Morgana smiled
prettily, fluttering her eyelashes at Brendan coyly.

 

 

“I agree. A few days in bed with a sore head would do him a world of
good,” Brendan said with an ambitious gleam in his eyes she
shuddered at.

 

 

Morgana saw it was only a matter of time before they fought with
each other over the sole ownership of the MacMahon lands.

 

 

Morgana pondered on ways to sow seeds of dissension between them
from now until the proposed wedding.

 

 

She herself was the major bone of contention, for Dermot still
insisted day after day that though the wedding was to take place on
Saturday, it would be himself and Morgana who were to wed each
other, and Aofa would be left for Brendan.

 

 

Morgana said haughtily, “I should think I have the right to choose,
and I choose Brendan. Nothing would prevail upon me to marry you
after you've given your word to my sister.”

 

 

“Not even the fate of your entire clan?” Dermot threatened.

 

 

“Now, now, Dermot, there is no need to upset our guest,” Brendan
cautioned hastily before Dermot said anything he might regret. “What
difference could it make if we're all going to share anyway?”

 

 

Dermot scowled darkly. Morgana could see the enormous envy rankling
in Dermot’s soul at the thought of his younger brother being head of
the Maguire lands and ships, depleted though they believed them to
be.

 

 

“I am eldest, as is she. The alliance would be forged better that
way.”

 

 

“It should make no difference,” Morgana contended. “We will be
allied, and nothing more could be gained from my being wed to
you.Brendan seems to think that you and Aofa have had an
understanding between each other for some time, so by all means,
marry her.”

 

 

Aofa herself had not come to Carrickdoo. Morgana guessed she had
been kept at the convent in order to deceive anyone who might by
chance come to the establishment in search of food and water.

 

 

Morgana could only think with smug satisfaction of the way Dermot
had treated Aofa, worse than a slave. The girl had thought she would
have everything all for herself, but Morgana had managed to thwart
her at every turn. What Aofa would do if she found out Dermot
intended to marry Morgana, she dare not guess.

 

 

 

 

 

The day of the proposed ceremony dawned and clear, and Morgana, now
fully able to see, looked down from the great door at the top of the
castle. The rope dangled from its pulley, and extended nearly all
the way down to the ground. Satisfied that it was her best chance if
no other opportunities presented themselves, Morgana went back to
her chamber to ready herself.

 

 

Morgana dressed in a gown she had been given by Brendan, which
looked very much like one of Aofa’s, and she also managed to secure
secretly a shirt and pair of hose to wear underneath. She tied her
hair back tightly into a long braid which she pinned up at the crown
of her head, and then put on the headdress and veil carefully.
Concealed in the folds of the long veil were two daggers she had
stitched loosely into them. Looking in the mirror, she was satisfied
that they didn’t show. Then she waited until Dermot came to take her
downstairs.

 

 

At about a quarter to eleven, the few remaining MacMahons began to
assemble in the great hall, along with a large guard of the English
mercenaries Dermot and Brendan had hired.

 

 

Morgana gazed out of the window of the great hall on the second
floor and could see many horses in the courtyard outside, and very
few guards on the parapets. She knew she had bought some time for
Finn and Patrick, but still had doubts about her escape.

 

 

The sun shone in through the windows of the great hall, bleaching
everything colourless, and Morgana complained to Dermot, “It’s so
hot in here. May we have the windows opened?”

 

 

Brendan complied with her request, and Morgana saw her best hope
fluttering in the gentle breeze outside.

 

 

At eleven Ruairc arrived with an entourage of MacMahon and Maguire
men, about thirty in all, but Dermot insisted they be kept outside
in case of trouble.

 

 

Ruairc scowled blackly as he was brought in alone save for Father
Doyle, and Morgana’s courage began to fail.  

 

 

But it was either tell the truth, or go through with her wedding to
Brendan, so she had to speak up no matter what.

 

 

Brendan entered the hall at last, the picture of a happy bridegroom.

 

 

Ruairc and Morgana took their places side by side onthe left of the
hall.Ruairc could see no chance of sneaking down the stairs to
escape with the entire room lined with mercenaries, and whispered,
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

 

“Whatever I do, follow me and don’t look back!” Morgana said through
gritted teeth as she tried to keep her false smile fixed in place.

 

 

Then the signal was given for her to approach the altar on Ruairc’s
arm. She instructed, “Whatever you do, don’t let go of me.”

 

 

Morgana made a great show of having to be blindly led to Brendan’s
side, but at last they were in front of the window, and Father Doyle
started to bless the couple as they stood at the small travelling
altar.

 

 

Ruairc hung onto her arm desperately despite the fact that he was
meant to have handed her over by Brendan at the beginning of the
ceremony. As the minutes ticked past, he became terrified of losing
Morgana to Brendan after all.

 

 

But when the priest asked if they knew of any reason why she and
Brendan should not be joined in matrimony, Morgana saw her chance.

 

 

“I know several reasons, which I wish to declare before this entire
assembly,” Morgana asserted loudly for all to hear.

 

 

Dermot drew his sword.

 

 

Morgana tore off her veil and plucked the long daggers from inside
as she and Ruairc moved behind the altar for protection. She handed
him a weapon and then stated, “Firstly, Dermot and Brendan are
murderers who killed my brother Conor and falsely blamed my true
betrothed Ruairc, for his death. Then they suborned my sister Aofa
to murder my father Morgan with a most foul poison. The MacMahons
have stolen my ships, raided my cattle, and tried to destroy my
clan. All of the MacMahon elders here banished Ruairc from the clan,
when all the while it has been Dermot and Brendan who have been the
guilty parties.