“Aye, Daughter, I know that now, but I would not have blamed you for
ignoring my summons. I have much cause to be sorry for the way I
have treated you all these years,” the old man rasped, as a coughing
fit choked him.
“Save your strength, Father. Don’t speak of things which are not
important.The point is, I am here now to help you.”
“Aye, and we must start making plans. I have been waiting for you. I
have not known what to do for the best, with the boys being away as
well, but the succession is all important, Morgana. You could hold
the place as
tanaist
, and even be chief, even as a nun, but
with no children to carry on the line, it might cause bitter
squabbling.”
Morgana started to pull her hand away, and the old man, sensing her
withdrawal, clung on, and pleaded, “You must listen!You are the one!
It is your destiny!”
“I make my own destiny, Father,” Morgana argued.
“God decides in the end, but I have a feeling the puppetmaster is
closer to us than the good Lord,” Morgan sighed, turning his face
toward the window.
“How did you survive this long, and get a message to Ruairc?”
Morgana asked, trying to win back his attention.
“I began to feed myself from the vegetable patches, hid the food in
the stores, and got several men from the village below to take
messages. At least the one to Ruairc got through, but I was unsure
of the others, until Ruairc came, and sent further messages himself
to Patrick and Finn.
“But then I grew progressively worse, so that I couldn’t get
downstairs. I can’t understand it, I’ve been so careful!But I now
know I am dying. I wanted to see you one last time before the end,
to tell you how sorry I am, and to beg you to forgive Ruairc, for he
is innocent of your brother’s murder.”
Morgana removed her hand entirely from her father’s icy grip, and
moved over to the window. “Father, all this is pointless.Is this
what he's told you while he’s been here?”
“Ruairc has said nothing. You know he is far too proud to ever stoop
so far as to defend himself against the accusations levelled at him.
Nor was there ever any concrete proof against him, only
circumstantial. No, he would not beg or coerce me into taking his
part. It is I who know Ruairc to be innocent. I am only sorry I
never spoke out before. He could not have killed your brother,
Morgana, because the timing was all wrong from the time of the death
until the time of the discovery of the body. He was on an errand for
me away from here at the time that Conor was murdered. Then he was
visiting with you when he came back. Shortly after he left, Conor's
body was supposedly discovered."
"An errand? What sort? And how can you know all this--"
He ignored her burning questions. “In my grief I believed in
appearances rather than facts. I thought he had become greedy, and
even if he had not killed Conor with his own hands, had perhaps
suborned someone to do it while he was away, the better to seem
innocent.
"I now realise how much Ruairc has been hurt by all of this, and of
course he is innocent of any attempt to poison me. I should have
trusted the two of you more,” Morgan admitted with a rueful sigh.
“What do you mean, Father! Why would you mistrust me?” she gasped.
He looked at her sadly. “I resented you for your mother’s death, and
even more for yourself. I can tell you now that your mother’s death
was not your fault. She knew she had a growth, but wished to spare
me the knowledge that we had only a short time left with each other.
The fact that she died when you were born was nothing to do with
you, and I humbly ask for your forgiveness.
“But even knowing the truth all these years, I have treated you
cruelly, and that is even more unforgivable. I deliberately blinded
myself to the faults of others, so willing was I to find fault with
you. I was angered by the fact that every day, I could see you
growing more and more like me."
The skeletal old man shook his head, and reached for her shoulder to
rest one bony claw on it for a brief moment.
“Conor was the heir, I know, but he was like his mother, soft and
dreamy, impractical. I was not blind. All the ideas, organisation,
hard work and dedication to the family and our land was yours, and
yet you were a mere woman. It was hurt pride on my part, and my
cruelty was a test I put you through. I would not have blamed you
for hating me and Conor, since he had all, and you nothing. You
would not even have had any clothes on your back if my second wife
had had her way.
"But you were resourceful. I know you managed to make your own
clothes yourself with the scraps Conor and Aofa had no use for,”
Morgan recalled with a bitter pang.
“How could I possibly hate you?” Morgana protested. “You are my
father. I loved you, and worshipped Conor, though as you say, I
often worried about how weak he was in the brain, though his body
was strong,” Morgana sniffed. “I would never have harmed him. Surely
you realise that now?”
“Nor would Ruairc.Surely
you
realise that now, Morgana. He
is an honourable man, and has been the son I have always wanted,
just as you have been, though fate decreed you to be a woman.
"Please, Morgana, it is too late for me to atone for all my sins,
but try to forgive Ruairc’s stiff-necked pride. He has not begged or
pleaded with you concerning his undoubted innocence because you have
wounded him so badly. There can be no love without honesty, trust
and respect. You have failed him on all three counts, just as I have
failed you.”
“It’s too late, Father. Even if all you say is true, I must go back
to the convent to take my vows,” Morgana maintained.
He shook his head. “It’s never too late, if you both love each
other, and I am certain you. But more important that your love for
one another, I also trust you and Ruairc to do what is right for the
clan."
A fit of coughing wracked him then, so that she reached for the
parcel from under the bed and gave him more of Agatha's special
cordial until he was able to breathe again.
When he was able to speak once more, he said, "I know what you've
seen on the way up here to visit me. It has been a disastrous two
years, with poor harvests, and many ships laden with rich cargoes
lost at sea.
"I blame myself, for since Conor’s death and your departure for the
convent, I have lost the will to fight. We have had a terrible run
of bad luck, either no rain or flooding, dead and missing
cattle....” Morgan trailed off, his strength ebbing.
Morgana’s mind wandered, fear and doubt creeping in.There was
something very wrong here at Lisleavan, and not just concerning her
father being ill.
The old man stirred feebly, and beseeched, “You must do your duty.
Forgive Ruairc, and unite the clan. Help me if you can, but I fear
it will be all over with me soon.”
Morgana gazed at her father, and an uncontrollable anger welled up
inside her, though she could not have said from where. “You say all
this now because you need my help. Apologising, asking for
forgiveness. That was never your way, old man. You've never admitted
you were wrong about anything in your life.
"It may be because you think death is staring you in the face, but I
will not let them harm you any longer, do you hear? Yet I fear that
this is all a sham. That when you are well again, nothing will have
changed. It will go back to Aofa being your precious little
golden-haired princess, and me no better than a hired soldier, or
scullery maid.”
“In that I have been wrong as well. Trust no one, do you hear!”
Morgan hissed like the foul serpent in the Garden of Eden. “When
Finn and Patrick come, we will make plans.”
“If they come,” Morgana sighed, suddenly feeling very much alone.
“They will come, and you will fight. My battles are done, child, but
yours are just beginning,” Morgan predicted.
Her father lay back against the pillows, exhausted, and after
helping him to a few more sips of the cordial, Morgana could see he
was ready to sleep again.
Just then, Ruairc came back to see how he was.
"Let me sleep now. I shall talk with you both more later." He looked
at the tall man by his side. "It's good to see you both. Thank you
for bringing her home to me safely."
"It's keeping her safe that worries me."
"I'm trusting you with my life, and hers. With all of our lives,
both of you. Be careful."
Ruairc nodded. "That's the story of my life in Dublin. The men there
will smile in your face even as they stab you in the back. Trust me,
I know what I'm doing. All will be well, I give you my word. Rest
now."
Morgana was more grateful than she could say for his reassurance,
and confidence. Whatever she thought he had done in the past, he was
clearly not guilty of anything happening at Lisleavan now, and was
lending her the support she needed most if she was ever to help her
father and fulfull his wishes.
So she made no demur as he offered his hand, and stepped out with
him onto the landing.
Her sister Aofa hovered on the stairs, but so stunned was Morgana
with grief and worry that she barely glanced at her sister.
Ruairc stiffened when he heard Aofa’s cloying tones inquiring after
Morgan’s health.
“He is very weak, as you well know, and does not wish to see
anyone,” Ruairc said coldly.
“I would so like to help,” Aofa purred, pushing herself between her
sister and Ruairc so she could sidle up closely to the handsome man,
“but all of my offers have been refused.”
Ruairc stepped away from her nearness hastily, and declared firmly,
“Your offers will continue to be refused as well." He gave her a
pointed look which spoke volumes. "Your father gave orders that no
one save myself and those to whom he has granted permission are to
enter. He is still the chief of this clan, Aofa, as well as your
father, so you will respect his wishes.”
With a glint in her eye, she cooed, “I’m so glad you’re back to take
charge of things, Ruairc. I need a man around here to help me.” She
planted a kiss on Ruairc’s lips that was anything but sisterly, and
disappeared down the winding stairs.
Morgana stood there stunned, but a voice inside her argued logically
that it made sense. Ruairc the favoured step-son, marrying the
favourite, younger, more beautiful daughter. It was no concern of
hers if she were returning to the convent, now was it?
Still, the sight of them kissing scorched her with a white hot
anger. Aofa had always had the best of everything, had taken
everything Morgana. Now Ruairc was going to be next.
“Morgana? Morgana? Are you all right?” he asked worriedly when he
got no response from her.
“Yes, of course, why shouldn’t I be?” she spat, when she realised
she had been staring at Ruairc’s face for quite some time.
“Come, I will take you to your room,” Ruairc offered kindly.
Grasping her arm firmly before she could yank it away, Ruairc led
her down the main staircase to a small bedroom with a large tester
bed. On the coverlet lay a fresh gown, but Morgana stopped, and
walked back out the door.
“No, I can’t change clothes. My vows. I must go downstairs, and see
what is happening in the kitchens.”
She avoided gazing at the bed, for fear it would conjure up memories
of the last time she had been at Lisleavan, when she and Ruairc had
been in that bed together. He would have taken her then, had it not
been for his sudden disappearance and the news of her brother’s
death a short time later, just before he returned.
Morgana risked a glance up at his face, but instead of an expression
of triumph and mockery, a worldly man who had everything he could
ever want, power, money, a willowy blond bride, she saw only sadness
and regret.
“My duties,” she murmured, and slipped away from Ruairc, though he
called after her to wait for him.
But after Morgana’s conversation with her father, there were more
things to worry about than her relationship with Ruairc. Morgan
Maguire might not recover, and even if he did, Morgana could see
with her own eyes that the family fortunes had been in decline for a
long time.
Hitching up her skirts, Morgana marched out the door for the castle
into the twilight to survey the situation for herself. Her father,
the entire clan, was counting on her. She couldn’t afford to let
them down.
CHAPTER FIVE
Morgana walked through the confines of the castle, raising the hood
of her black cloak to shield her grim features, and prevent too many
people from knowing she had returned until she could see for herself
exactly what the lay of the land was.
She barely recognised the elegant home she had left only two years
before. The animal pens were falling down, and the few beasts
remaining were scraggy and thin.The sheep, once a prized herd, were
practically bald, and the cows had stopped giving milk long ago.A
few goats bleated piteously as she walked past, their ribs sticking
out, their eyes dim. Goats thrived on pretty much anything. Their
terrible condition signalled just how much deprivation everyone had
been suffering there.