“I do? How strange as I favor my father,” she said.
She was no fool, he quickly realized. He would have to be far more subtle with her. “Not in features,” he quickly amended, “but rather in yer mannerisms, the way ye use yer hands, the tilt of yer pretty red head. I was barely breeked when Bevin sailed across the seas to marry the Englishman.”
“How old were ye?”
“Just six, but she had been around me all my life. She was like a sister to me, and I cried for days after she left for it was all so quick, the betrothal and the wedding coming within a month. There was barely time for the banns to be posted in Ballycoille so the marriage might be celebrated by proxy in Ireland allowing her family to see her marry.”
“She was married here in England when she arrived,” said Aidan. “The Earl and Countess of Lincoln, she is Elizabeth FitzGerald, our distant cousin, arranged the match, and they came, I am told, to the wedding, the earl giving the bride away himself. It was a great honor.”
“Aidan, Erwina will need time to prepare a meal for our guest,” Conn reminded his wife, and then as she gave the two men a quick smile and hurried from the room, Conn turned to speak to their guest. “The FitzGeralds live in the south to my memory. Where did ye sail from that brings ye here to the middle of England?”
“I had estate business in Dublin, my lord, and so I sailed from there to Liverpool. I bought a horse there, and since yer on my way to London, I promised my dear uncle I would stop and see little Aidan. He remembers her with great fondness.”
“He never laid eyes on her,” Conn remarked.
“But the letters his daughter sent to him were so vivid that it was as if he had,” was the smooth reply.
“And how are things in Ireland?” Conn asked.
“The same. The English continue to plantation the land with their own people thus displacing us. Nothing has changed.”
“There are no plantations in Connaught,” said Conn.
“Nay,” agreed Cavan FitzGerald. “Yer people have learned how to cooperate with the English. Mine prefer to remain free.”
Conn shrugged the insult aside. “One Ireland needs one king, not a hundred, and as long as there are a hundred kings Ireland will remain enslaved. Ye don’t understand that, however, do ye? Ye think I’m a traitor to my country because I live here, but in Ireland I was Dubhdara O’Malley’s youngest child, landless and worthless. My existence was an aimless one. Here in England I am useful. I have made my fortune.”
“By marrying my cousin,” said Cavan FitzGerald.
“Nay! I was a rich man before I ever met Aidan, but that is not yer business. I welcome ye to
Pearroc Royal
as family. See that ye do not abuse the privileges of yer status, Master FitzGerald. If ye do, ye’ll have me to settle with. I’m still a Celtic warrior for all the veneer of the English gentleman ye see. Be warned.”
Cavan FitzGerald was no fool. What had seemed an easy task when he had first been approached by the Spanish did not seem so simple now. During the next few days as he wandered about the vast estate he was amazed by Conn’s knowledge as Lord Bliss discussed with him rotation of crops, the details involved in the sale of garden produce, the breeding of stock, the replenishment of the gardens, the household accounts, all of which Aidan had turned over to her husband when they had married. Conn had obviously learned quickly enough so that he had already appointed himself an assistant, young Beal, the butler and the housekeeper’s eldest son, to be his steward. Young Beal was a man in his late thirties, and he had in turn appointed his younger brother, Harry, as gamekeeper.
All the servants were very loyal to their master and their mistress, and the more Cavan FitzGerald saw, the more he realized that like Conn, he would prefer living here in England, in the lap of luxury. Why should he return to Ireland? His uncle wouldn’t live much longer, and once his cousins came into their inheritance they would toss him from his precarious perch. His grudging acceptance into the family was only good as long as Rogan FitzGerald lived. Cavan realized now that he was going to have to make his own way in this world.
He would aid the Spanish in the quest to destroy the O’Malleys, or at least the O’Malley brothers. Then he would, after a suitable time, court the grieving widow for he could see that Aidan would mourn greatly. There was no doubt in Cavan FitzGerald’s mind that Aidan and Conn were lovers in every sense of the word; but he would make her like him while he remained with them, and then she would be ripe fruit for the plucking when he was ready. He already knew that Conn disliked him, was suspicious of him and of what he was doing in England. Only the fact that he had actually told the truth when he said he had been trained as a steward had saved him.
He was in no great hurry to travel on to London to meet with Miguel de Guaras who was already there, smuggled into England on the deserted Cornish coast. De Guaras’ mother had been French, and he would pass himself off as a Frenchman. Cavan, however, bided his time with Conn and Aidan, attempting to win over his cousin with a mixture of Irish charm and wit. Aidan, delighted to have a blood relative of her own at long last, blossomed with his attentions. She might be a happily married woman, but she was not impervious, she found, to a handsome man, and Cavan FitzGerald was attractive. Not as beautiful as her husband, she thought with pride, but still a handsome fellow with his light blue eyes, and hair which was not coppery like hers, but russet.
She and Conn took him to
Queen’s Malvern.
“This is my cousin, Master Cavan FitzGerald,” Aidan said proudly as she presented him to Conn’s family. “And this, cousin, is my sister-in-law, Skye, and her husband, Adam de Marisco.” Aidan had her arm through Cavan’s and she was obviously pleased to have a relation to present to them.
Skye and Adam had the same reaction to Cavan FitzGerald as had Conn. Instinctively they did not trust him, but they kept silent knowing how important this
cousin
was to sweet Aidan.
Alone with Skye later that day Aidan had confided to her, “I barely remember my sisters for it has been so long since they died, and they were only babies, after all. Mama’s family was never real to me until Cavan came. He tells me stories of all my relations, both living and dead, past and present. I can actually see my mother as a little girl through his eyes! Mama died so long ago, and but for my father I never really had a family. I’m not certain I like my Irish relations for they have never bothered with me, but at least I know them now through Cavan. It’s as if I really do have a family thanks to him. I know Conn doesn’t like him, but he is so kind to me, and patient that I can’t help but be grateful to him. Surely ye understand that, Skye?”
Lady de Marisco nodded, and hugged Aidan reassuringly. “Of course I do, my dear sister, and your cousin is most welcome to bide with us too should he desire.”
The smile Aidan gave Skye in return for her generous words touched the older woman. She knew her instincts regarding Cavan FitzGerald were correct, but although she disliked the smooth-talking Irishman, she did not believe he could harm sweet Aidan, and so she held her peace for her sister-in-law’s sake.
Cavan spent several days with the de Marisco’s steward and realized how rich a country England was just in her land alone. He would be happy here, he decided, and if he could get a son on Aidan quick enough he might even match him with the little de Marisco heiress, and then all of this estate and Aidan’s would belong to the FitzGeralds.
His family.
The dynasty he intended founding!
June came, and Cavan FitzGerald knew he could no longer delay his departure to London. To his surprise Conn and Aidan said they would travel with him, for they had written to Lord Burghley their desire to see the queen, and had only just received permission to come to London. Cavan had suspected long since that Conn eagerly awaited his going, but the timing was perfect. It meant that Conn would be in London as he went about the business of impersonating him. There would be no way in which Lord Bliss could avoid the trap about to be sprung upon him.
“Having ye with me as I travel will make the trip all the more pleasant,” he said smiling broadly.
“Ye must stay with us in London, too,” said Aidan generously. “We don’t have our own home there, but we stay at Skye’s house, Greenwood, at Chiswick, on the river just outside the city itself.”
Before Conn might protest, however, Caven FitzGerald was declining graciously. “Nay, little Aidan, ’tis most generous of ye to offer, but my plans are already made, and since it is likely to be the only time in me life I ever get to see yer Londontown, I should prefer to stay in its very heart at some bustling inn. I know ye understand, cousin.”
Conn almost groaned aloud when Aidan pressed Cavan. “Yer sure, Cavan? I hate to think of ye in some uncomfortable place when ye could be so wonderfully comfortable with us.”
“Aidan, staying with ye has been a rare treat for me for although yer grandsire is landed, his home, most of the homes in Ireland, have nothing like the comforts I’ve seen here at
Pearroc Royal,
and
Queen’s Malvern.
’Tis been a rare treat, but the sooner I get back to reality, the better.” He laughed lightly. “Yer grandsire will not believe the half of it, little Aidan, and all these years he fretted that he had sent his Bevin into a cold exile.”
“I understand just what Cavan is saying,” added Conn. “Don’t forget, sweeting, that ye’ve never been to Ireland, and like yer cousin, I grew up there.”
“I’ve never been anywhere until last year when I went to court,” chuckled Aidan. “The queen liked to call me her country mouse.”
“Ye know the queen?” Cavan said. This was a subject that hadn’t come up before, and it did not bode well, he thought.
“Of course I know the queen,” replied Aidan. “I was one of her maids of honor. She personally arranged my match with Conn for he was a great favorite of hers.”
Now that, thought Cavan, was better. Conn’s seeming involvement in a plot against Elizabeth Tudor would seem doubly worse by virtue of the fact he had been in her favor.
“When,” Aidan continued with a grin, “Conn’s natural exuberance got him sent down from court the queen made his punishment more palatable by marrying him to me. She told him that there were those who would hardly think her too harsh marrying him to an heiress.”
Conn laughed. “Ye’ve heard of the reluctant bride, Cavan? Well, I was a reluctant bridegroom.” He slipped his arm about Aidan. “What a fool I was, but then how was I to know I should fall in love with this witch?”
Aidan looked up tenderly at her husband. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my lord,” she said softly.
“Why were ye sent from court?” asked Cavan, wondering if the information might aid him in his plot.
“For getting caught with too many ladies at once,” said Aidan mischievously. “A mother, her two daughters, and an ambassador’s wife!”
“All at once?”
Cavan was stunned and admiring all in the same breath. As much as Conn would have loved to let the misunderstanding on Cavan’s part remain, he knew he couldn’t. “Within the period of several days,” he said, and Aidan giggled.
Cavan chuckled back at the two of them, but in his mind he was already formulating a scenario. Conn, angry at Elizabeth Tudor for sending him from court, and forcing him into marriage; Conn, raised in the Holy Mother Church, and his eyes suddenly open to the royal bastard; Conn seeking revenge for himself while at the same time helping to place England’s rightful Catholic queen, Mary of Scotland, upon the throne. It was perfect, and it was all he could do not to show his exultation. With that background, the Spanish plot could not help but succeed.
London was several days’ traveling from
Pearroc Royal,
and once again Cavan FitzGerald was impressed by all he saw. The countryside was green and fertile, the towns appeared prosperous. They stayed at clean, comfortable inns along their route, and Lord and Lady Bliss and their party were welcomed graciously; the accommodations given them spacious and cheerful, the food served them the best of what England had to offer. There was peace and contentment here, Cavan realized. It was something he could never remember feeling in his entire life, and he suddenly realized that he was jealous of Conn. Why should all this good luck go to an O’Malley, and not a FitzGerald? Why should Aidan not be his wife? Her wealth, his wealth?
Suddenly he knew for certain that he did not want to return to Ireland. He didn’t want to have to lick the boots of his cousin, Eamon, in order to ensure his very survival. He wanted a wife and a family, things long denied him. He didn’t want to have to depend upon others for his very existence. He wanted to be his own man, and having Aidan for his wife would ensure that. He had never had any real feelings where the politics of Ireland were concerned. He was too busy surviving to have time to waste on patriotic emotions. He didn’t give a damn what happened to Ireland or the FitzGeralds. He just wanted to be a man of property with a cozy wife.
Conn and Aidan bid Cavan FitzGerald farewell at Greenwood, and sent him on his way with a wave and good wishes. Then as their coach turned into the drive of the house Conn heaved a mighty sigh.
“Thank God he’s gone!” he said with deep feeling.
“Conn! He’s my cousin!”
“He’s the bastard get of yer great-uncle, and I don’t like him, Aidan. Oh, he was pleasant enough, but I don’t believe for one minute that he’s in England on ‘estate’ business for yer grandsire. Ye can’t even be certain the old man is still alive, sweeting. All ye have is
cousin
Cavan’s word on it. If he is, and yer cousin is in his favor, then why didn’t the old man send a personal message written by the priest for ye?”
“Then why did Cavan bother to come see us?” she demanded irritably.
“Who knows! Perhaps to cadge a few weeks’ lodging and food off us at the least. At the worst, I don’t know.”