Nell by Jeanette Baker Read Free Book Online

softly, “I want you now.”
    Gerald Og, ninth earl of Kildare, stood in the small hall at Maynooth and looked at the black-haired boy holding his daughter’s hand. He had been right to approach Donal O’Flaherty. The O’Flahertys were fierce fighters. “From the fury of the fighting O’Flahertys, may the Lord deliver us” was the motto inscribed on the gates of Galway City. O’Flaherty chieftains were chosen by rites of ancient Brehon law rather than the English practice of primogeniture. Only the fittest, elected by popular vote, became an O’Flaherty chieftain.
    Perhaps it was best, mused Gerald Og, his shrewd gaze taking in the young man’s muscular legs, his deep chest, wide shoulders, and the hard, uncompromising gray of his eyes. Surely, this man was a fit mate for Nell. Gerald reached out and placed one hand on Donal’s shoulder, the other on Nell’s. His eyes twinkled. “Your match pleases me. May it please you as well. I leave for London in the morning. The wedding will take place when I return, in four months’ time.”
    He saw Donal’s brow darken and continued quickly. “Henry grows impatient for my report. Unless he is soothed, Ireland will know the taste of English steel. I go to keep the peace. We will all benefit.” He waited for the boy to object, but other than a brief tightening of the lips, Donal remained silent. Gerald was more than pleased. The lad knew when to keep his own counsel.
    Lifting his daughter’s chin, he looked into her eyes. “Take care of your mother, lass. She worries when I am away. Send Thomas to me. You must watch him carefully. I’ll not have everything I’ve worked for destroyed because his patience wears too thin.”
    Nell smiled. Thomas Fitzgerald was her older brother. His revolutionary tendencies were a source of frustration to his father and uncles, but she adored him. They had spent many happy hours growing up together in the woods and glens of Maynooth. “I’ll find him for you, Father.” She looked up at her betrothed. “Will you come with me, Donal? I would like for you and Thomas to meet. You have much in common.”
    Gerald coughed and turned away, holding his hands near the hearth fire. If ever two young men were opposites, they were Donal O’Flaherty and his oldest son.
    The O’Flaherty was the elder by two years, and never had two years made more of a difference. Thomas was blond like all the Fitzgeralds and slim as a reed. Every fleeting emotion was revealed on his expressive face, and too often the sulky petulance of an indulged childhood was evident in his manners.
    There was no trace of childhood in Donal O’Flaherty’s lean, chiseled features, and his true feelings were completely hidden behind the schooled indifference of his expression. At the age of sixteen, he had been unanimously elected chief of his clan, and by nineteen, he’d earned a reputation as a shrewd battle strategist and a courageous fighter. Wise beyond his years, he insisted that the O’Flahertys stay as far away from the Pale as possible, refusing to incur England’s wrath by engaging in the common practice of plundering English carracks as they crossed the Irish Sea.
    This marriage had been years in the making. With it, Gerald would accomplish what he’d always intended, to ally all of Ireland with the Fitzgeralds, to create a powerful dynasty that would one day lead a successful insurrection against England and form its own royal house.
    ***
    Four days later, Nell, with the betrothal crest of the O’Flahertys pinned to her bodice, stood in the courtyard of Maynooth, staring up at the man who would be her husband. She felt strangely self-conscious standing there before all of his men, her small hand clasped possessively in his larger one. Her shyness made no sense, not after the hours they had shared alone in each other’s company, hours that would