L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep by Sharon Schulze Read Free Book Online Page A

laughed, the
sound as harsh as the memories prompting it. “My father was infamous as a man
who would fight over the most trifling matters. And my brothers are worse.”
Meeting Lord Connor’s gaze, she added, “But I’ve never met, before or since,
anyone who took such pleasure from war as Dermot MacCarthy did. He gloried in
it, savored every moment he held sway over his opponent.” Her voice shook; she
took a deep breath and waited, hoping ′twould calm her, but it made no
difference.
    Lord Connor took her hand and led her back to the rock where
they’d sat before, releasing her as soon as he’d settled beside her. “Such a
man is not a warrior, milady. That is not honorable behavior.”
    “There was nothing honorable about Dermot MacCarthy,” she said,
sorrow closing her throat till she could scarce say the words. “But I did not
realize that fact until ′twas too late to change the course I had set
upon.” She stared out at the sea, at the gulls wheeling and swooping on the
wind. Their freedom made a mockery of her life, pulling tight upon the tangled
threads she’d woven about herself …
    And everyone within her milieu.
    How she wished she could send Lord Connor away, before he found
himself wound firmly within this sticky web! But ′twas already too late
for that, she knew, too late for all of them.
    God alone knew how this would end. All she knew was that it could
only end badly for her.
    She prayed no one else might suffer for her folly.
    Lord Connor touched her arm, his hand gentle, until she met his
gaze again. “Milady, I know it must pain you to relive this. I’m a stranger to
you, and you likely wish me to the devil for pressing you, but I must know what
happened here if I’m to protect you and your child, your people. I beg your forgiveness,
but I will learn the truth of it, and
soon.” He sighed. “I believe I’ll hear a more honest account from you than from
d’Athée. Tis clear he’s no friend to you, or to anyone with Irish blood flowing
in their veins.” He nudged her with his shoulder, his mouth curling into a
faint smile. “The fool.”
    Moira couldn’t help but smile in return, though the thought of
Sir Ivor and his lies wiped away the brief sense of sharing she’d felt. “You’ve
the right of it, milord, but ′tis not because I’m Irish that Sir Ivor
hates me—at least that’s not the only reason. He’s always borne me a grudge,
whether from jealousy or something else, I cannot say. He was very loyal to
Lord Brien.”
    “Whatever the cause, I doubt he’s capable of speaking on the
topic of the MacCarthys—or you—for more than a word or two without his true
feelings tainting everything he says.” Connor shifted on the rock so that he
bore the brunt of the wind pounding at them. “I’ll take my chances with you,
milady, and trust you won’t prove me wrong to have done so.”
    As Connor watched her, he could see the internal struggle she
waged revealed on her face, in her eyes. He doubted she could lie with any
success at all. He hoped he was right, for he needed the truth from someone here, and she appeared the most
likely candidate.
    At last she focused her expressive blue eyes on his face, as
though judging him, weighing him . “I
thank you, Lord Connor, for your trust—and your honesty. I will try to live up
to it, I promise you.” A shudder passed through her. “You’ve the right of it,
though ′tis a hard thing to admit to you what a fool I was. Stranger or
no, ′twould be difficult either way.” She huddled deeper into the loose
folds of her gown, tempting him to wrap his arms about her for warmth, for
comfort—for whatever she needed. Willpower alone kept him from doing so; she’d
not welcome such familiarity from a stranger, nor did he wish to tempt himself
further.
    Sitting next to her, being enveloped in her nearness, her scent,
the feel of her, was temptation
enough as it was.
    She laid her hand on his forearm, surprising him. “I trust you