'ONCE UPON A TIME ON A GREEN, GREEN ISLAND'
Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount; 'Lord of the Dance' is property of Michael Flatley and his company, no copyright infringement intended.
Rating: PG
Category: Romance (H/M), Adventure
Spoiler: Mac has very strange dream - but is she really dreaming? Just a little fairy-tale, utterly out of genre.
Author's note: This story came to my mind when I was driving across the green fields of Brandenburg (a federal state of Germany) on a rainy day, listening to Michael Flatley's 'Lord of the Dance'. I had lots of fun working it out - so I hope some of you may have equal fun reading it!
William Marshall is a historical person. The events described in this story, however, are fictional.
Many, many thanks to Sarah and Heather for beta-reading! ____________________________________________________________________________ __
0311 ZULU Kennedy Center Washington, D.C.
It was the ancient battle of all times, savior against destroyer, good against evil. Advancing, retreating, circling around, the man in white and the man in black fought their deadly duel, one trying to free, one trying to destroy the 'Spirit of the Dance', that lay under the threat of being extinguished. Always increasing in speed and vehemence, the opponents approached the climax of their fight, struggling to reach their victory until finally good triumphed. The servants of the light gathered around their lord, rejoicing in the dark side's defeat.
Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie sat and stared at the stage, subconsciously holding her breath, not noticing that her fingers were tightly clenched on her partner's arm. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr would have watched her in pure amusement, had she not applied an amount of strength that would painfully show itself on his arm afterwards. As thrilled as he was, watching this incredible show, he'd be glad when it would be over because he couldn't feel his right hand anymore. But Mac seemed absolutely swept away by the performance and she was so beautiful in her trance-like state that Harm couldn't bring himself to disturb her. Well, he'd regret that tomorrow, but right now he didn't really mind.
When the lights faded and the music died away Mac leant back in her seat, exhaled and closed her eyes. Then she suddenly became aware of where her hands were and her already rosy cheeks flushed even more. She loosened her grip, causing Harm to wince as his blood immediately returned to his numb hand.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harm." He could tell she was embarrassed. Flashing her a genuine flyboy-grin, he joined in the applause, the clapping soon making his hand come back to normal.
"No problem, Mac. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."
"I really did. Thank you so much for inviting us to come here, Harm."
"Yes, thank you so much, sir... uhm... Harm," Lieutenant Bud Roberts joined in the conversation, beaming brightly. "It's been a great day, right, Harriet?" He smiled at his wife.
"Absolutely! Thank you so much, Harm!" Lieutenant Harriet Sims-Roberts impulsively hugged her superior officer, causing him to feel a little embarrassed.
"Hey, it's been my pleasure," he retorted. "It's my birthday and I wanted to do something really nice with the people closest to me. I'm only sorry the admiral and Sturgis couldn't come."
"I'm sure, the admiral would have liked the idea of getting all of us into such perfect lines and perfect synchrony as those tap-dancers," Mac said with a grin, clapping wildly as the dancers returned on stage and bowed. "But with you around that's impossible, flyboy."
Harm just flashed her a knowing grin and turned his eyes back in front.
Not wanting Harm to refrain from having a glass of wine on his birthday, Mac had volunteered to drive. She had parked her corvette in front of Harm's apartment, leaving him the keys and papers. They had picked up the Roberts' in Harm's SUV that she would drive home in after the show. In the morning, back at JAG, they'd exchange their cars again.
Having dropped the Roberts' off at their house, Mac drove Harm over to his place. Both were lost in their thoughts, barely exchanging a word until Mac stopped the car in front of his entrance. "Thanks again for a magical evening, sailor." She smiled.
Harm suddenly felt unsure of himself. It was one thing riding across Afghanistan in a humvee with Mac and him in cammies. Being in mess dress, with her in a gorgeous evening dress right by his side, closed in the intimacy of a civilian car was something totally different, something he didn't often do and wasn't accustomed to.
"You're very welcome, Marine," he said, smiling back, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger's door. Before exiting he hesitated and turned to face her but didn't know what to say. The only thing he knew was that he didn't want her to leave but he'd rather bite his tongue than let that slip.
Mac, still on the emotional roller-coaster ride caused by the show, didn't really consider her actions as she quickly leaned in and brushed a feather- light kiss to his lips.
"Happy birthday, Harm."
His dumbfounded expression made her chuckle. At the sound he started, swallowed and gave her a puzzled smile, turning to exit the car.
"Thanks for coming, Sarah." He closed the door, waved a shy greeting through the windscreen and watched as she drove off. Thoroughly shaken by her unexpected display of feelings he slowly ascended the steps to his apartment.
0522 ZULU Mac's apartment Georgetown, D.C.
'I can't believe I did that!' she kept scolding herself again and again, blushing at the very thought of their kiss, her knees still slightly unsteady. Why did she always have to do something foolish, every time their friendship was back on track after the painful experiences of the last few years? They'd begun to relax around each other after his return from flying - and she'd had to start that fateful conversation on the ferry. They'd started to come just a little closer again after Mic had come to the States, being out on missions together - and she'd moved the ring. They'd finally spoken from the heart on the admiral's porch, kissing each other, and it had made her feel something she'd never experienced with any other man - and she'd said that they were getting too good at saying goodbye. He'd wanted to talk to her after his crash - and she'd fled to the Guadalcanal.
Now they were comfortable around each other, finally having restored their wonderful friendship - and all she could do was kiss him and make him retreat into his shell. If she could only stop herself from being foolish for once! Maybe Harm even loved her, but his behavior made it clear that he didn't want to be with her. She absolutely had to refrain from making him feel uneasy or she would lose his trust and their close friendship, and that would be the end of the world.
Frustrated, Mac got up and put a CD into her player. Maybe the wonderful music that had swept her away from her problems earlier could do the job again. She switched off the lights and stretched out on her bed, letting reel and hornpipe, harp and fiddle finally take her to dreamland.
A.D. 1302 The O'Hara Castle Leinster, Ireland
The O'Hara's had always been a well-renowned family. For generations, even before the English nobility had taken over all of Ireland, the O'Hara's had been known for their culture and diplomacy. They had always been authorities of counsel and intermediation, respected and valued by English occupants as well as by the Irish natives. It was this unstained reputation and impartiality that had earned the O'Hara's the title of baron, one of the very few Irish families to be held at the same stature as the lower English nobility. It had been William Marshall, Lord of Leinster, the great counselor of King John and regent for minor King Henry III himself, who had rewarded Patrick O'Hara with the baron's title back in 1205, and the family had honored it ever since, although even a century later, they were still not fully accepted as noblemen. They were Irish. And that was a contradiction to nobility.
Baron Matthew O'Hara stood at a window of his castle's great dining hall, looking down on the River Barrow, lost in his thoughts. Those were times of trouble and he was preoccupied for his family as well as his peasants. Just like a hundred years ago, the barons were causing an uproar again, revolting against the lords' sovereignty. Back then it had been William Marshall who had resolved the conflict with supreme diplomatic expertise, counseled to a great extent by Matthew's great-great-great-great grandfather Patrick. The people of Leinster had been given the opportunity to live in peace and not worry about anything else than filling their barns and stores to grant a comfortable life for everyone. But now, everything was different.
Two years ago the problems had started. A young baron named Clark Palmer had found his hero in the person of William Wallace, called Braveheart, who was right now fighting for the rights of his people in Scotland. But unlike Wallace, Palmer's ambitions were all personal. He and his wife Lauren were craving to increase their influence, enlarge their lands and fortunes. And promising the barons a fair share of the prey, they had succeeded in assembling a powerful army of knights, conquering ever larger pieces of Leinster's land. Henry, the rightful Lord of Leinster, had been unable to stop them, and England was too far away. Two knights had been sent back to the royal court, carrying a plea for assistance, but still no answer had reached the Green Isle. So Matthew had not been able to do anything when the barons had joined against Henry, assaulted the lord's castle of Kilkenny and massacred his family. The Marshalls were no more.
To Palmer's astonishment his troops had encountered severe resistance after he had declared himself the new Lord of Leinster. The people, in a last ditch effort, were trying to save their country from a tyrant. But slowly, very slowly, Lord Clark's soldiers were making progress, mercilessly approaching the last shelter of order and rights that was to be found anywhere near: the castle and lands of Baron Matthew O'Hara, who had refused, pointblank, to join the rebels.
"What is it, uncle?" Matthew heard a warm voice from behind him. He turned, a smile spreading over his face. Even being a grown-up woman now, a widow, aged 35 years, his niece still held his heart captive like she had when she had been a little girl and he had come to pay a visit to his sister, her mother, in Scotland.
Lady Sarah Mackenzie was not very much like Lady Deanne O'Hara had been. She was tall and slender, her long dark hair always tied up rather thoroughly without much decoration. Lady Sarah was beautiful and womanly in her features, but her character had a decisively male edge. Sarah was practical and decent in her choice of dress. She didn't consider it inappropriate to pick something up from the floor when she had let it drop, or to wipe something clean herself instead of waiting a long time to have it done by a servant when there was too much work to be done in the rest of the house.
Sarah had grown tough because of her life, having gone through one hell of a marriage with an abusive husband two times her age. Her mother had died shortly after Sarah had been born and her father, Lord Joseph Mackenzie, had married her to the first lucrative candidate. At fifteen years Sarah Mackenzie had become Lady Sarah Ragle. She had had three children but all of them had died in childbed. A year ago, Lord Christopher had been killed fighting at William Wallace's side and as Lord Joseph hadn't wanted to take Sarah back into his house, she had decided to join her mother's family in Ireland. She wasn't quite accepted in society, as for the English nobility she was an O'Hara and for the Irish people she was Scottish. But Sarah didn't really mind. She was long past the anger of not fitting in - in Scotland she had always been considered Irish.
Sarah had loved Ireland from the moment she had arrived. The scenery was so much softer and gentler than in Scotland and her mother's family was the most welcoming people she had ever come to know. She had seen her uncle a few times in Scotland, knowing him to be honest, honorable and kind. His wife Mary had turned out just the same, adding a becoming amount of mischievous humor that she had obviously passed on to her two daughters, Harriet and little Chloe.
In Harriet, Sarah had found the first true friend she had ever had in her life. The slightly younger lively blonde soon ceased to be her cousin and became the sister Sarah had never had. And fourteen-year old Chloe adored and admired Sarah from the bottom of her heart. Sarah would have broken entirely with her past in Scotland, had it not been for her name and the one person who'd accompanied her all the way to Ireland: Father Chegwidden who had baptized and married her and who considered Sarah the daughter he wasn't allowed to have.
"What is it? Tell me," Sarah again gently urged her uncle to speak. She was a very accomplished woman and had sharp wits, combined with thorough knowledge of the world. These qualities made her an agreeable individual to converse with - at least to Matthew who didn't share the public opinion that women weren't supposed to be educated, unless one referred to singing and playing the harp.
He sighed, turning to his niece. "We still don't have word from the king, my dear."
Sarah was getting worried about the current situation, but seeing her uncle bear the weight of concern for all his dependents, she tried to sound reassuring. "I'm sure he won't forget us, uncle."
"Let us just hope help arrives before Palmer does."
Sarah sighed her consent and looked out of the window, down on the narrow road that wound parallel to the Barrow's shore. A few moments later she gasped and only pointed her index finger to where she had been looking: two knights came riding towards the castle, one of them bearing the royal banner.
Hurried activities set in the moment Matthew gave orders to prepare to receive them properly. Sarah smoothed the black dress she was still bound to wear and stepped behind Mary, Harriet and Chloe as the family gathered behind Baron Matthew, ready to greet King Edward's delegates.
A short time later the herald announced the unexpected visitors to the O'Hara's: "Bringing word of King Edward, let us welcome two noblemen, knights of the king's personal trust, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon."
The two knights stepped forward and bowed before Matthew. The slightly shorter one, who had dark blond hair and a somewhat secretive expression on his face, introduced them in full: "Baron Matthew, I am Sir Clayton Webb of Arundel, chief diplomatic ambassador to our king, and this," he motioned to the other knight, a tall, dark-haired man with lively blue-green eyes, who bowed silently, "Is Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance, our king's personal attaché in foreign affairs. We are honored to be received by you and your family and we bear a message from our liege lord. King Edward commands you to stay firm and not surrender to Clark Palmer's troupes. Reinforcements are right now on their way to Ireland in order to restore freedom to Leinster. We are also ordered to prepare a grand counsel of all noblemen in order to elect a new leader for the lands once peace is restored. May we claim your hospitality, baron?"
Matthew was relieved. Finally, there seemed to be a chance to sort out this affair. "We are honored by your presence, Sir Clayton, Sir Harmon. The king's ambassadors will always be welcome in my house. Let me present to you my family: Lady Mary O'Hara, my wife. My daughters, Ladies Harriet and Chloe O'Hara. My second cousin's son Sir Bud Roberts, betrothed to my daughter Harriet. And my niece, daughter of my late sister Lady Deanne: Lady Sarah Mackenzie."
As each of the family had been presented, they had either bowed or curtsied and received bows in return. Nothing special had happened until the moment when Sarah was presented. Sir Harmon had avoided looking openly at anyone of the family, his reluctance of getting too close with people always made him create a wall around himself from the start. But as Lady Sarah stepped forward with a slight, warm smile and sank into an elegant curtsy in front of them, Harmon's control failed him for the very first time.
Harmon and Sarah's eyes met - and held. The fearless knight felt his stomach tighten and his knees begin to shake at seeing her. Though dressed to mourn, the woman before him was still young and had lost nothing of her bloom. Her attitude conveyed silent submission into the women's role but at the same time held an inward rebellion against it and showed the determination to be independent. Her manners came naturally with friendliness but there was something to them that spoke of a deeper dimension. This woman had seen the difficulties of life and had emerged from them with her head uplifted.
But what captivated Harmon most were her huge dark eyes. They showed grace as well as tenacity, strength as well as vulnerability and temper as well as the ability to deeply love and commit. Harmon had never listened to the king and his friends as they were trying to talk him into looking for a possible wife. He'd found women shallow and boring. But this lady in front of him, who didn't shyly avert her eyes but firmly and openly returned his glance, showing rather unwomanly curiosity and a feeling of intellectual equality... Harmon instantly felt connected to her in some strange way. And the idea frightened him in a way he had believed a knight to be resistant to. It was him who finally had to break the eye contact, unable to bear the unknown tension.
Matthew made an inviting gesture towards the two knights. "Let me show you to our guest quarters, sirs, my servants will see to your horses and luggage. And after resting and refreshing yourselves, I hope you will consent to join us tonight for a little private celebration with a number of Irish families, celebrating the saint's day of St. Patrick." Matthew really hoped the Englishmen would agree - their connection with the Irish could indeed prove vital in the political events, as seemingly all the lower English gentry had joined Palmer.
Obviously the knights fully knew the situation and the conflict Matthew faced. "We'd be honored to join you, baron." It was the first thing Sir Harmon had said and Sarah felt a strange attraction to the man upon hearing his voice that reminded her of dark velvet.
"I am glad to hear it, Sir Harmon," Matthew stated with a warm smile. "So, please, sirs, follow me upstairs."
On the way out of the dining hall Harmon turned to cast one last look at Lady Sarah. He lifted his eyes in her direction - only to find her looking at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face.
Harriet, Chloe and Sarah had retreated to the library where they used to spend most of their indoor time. Baron Matthew had a rather unique library for a non-clerical person. It comprised about a hundred and fifty works, mostly religious as the collection had belonged to his great-great grandfather's brother, an abbot. Most people found it somewhat odd that Matthew had books at all - people didn't need to read. The friars did that in the monasteries, and having books copied was very expensive so why should they bother? Sarah was fond of reading, though. Harriet would sit by with her embroidery and Chloe would spend endless hours drawing chalk pictures on little blackboards. There was a comfortable fire burning in the hall and armchairs invited to sit next to it. It was the perfect place to let go of womanly etiquette and be oneself.
But today Sarah found it hard to concentrate on the Virgil she was reading. She had studied quite a bit of Latin with Father Chegwidden's help whenever her husband had been away and she loved the adventures of Aeneas. But today the letters swam in front of her eyes, even though they had been copied by a very capable person. And reading with a blurred vision was always dangerous to the precious and expensive books as a falling tear threatened to leave traces on the writing, washing away some ink. So finally Sarah closed the huge book with a sigh, letting herself sink back in her armchair.
Harriet smiled knowingly at her. "You should have seen yourself, Sarah," she said quietly. "Your eyes seemed like magnets holding Sir Harmon's glance."
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked indignantly, blushing despite herself.
Harriet's smile only grew. "It's me, Sarah, no need to deny it. I witnessed your exchange with the king's attaché. He fascinates you."
Seeing Chloe look up with interest, Sarah chose not to answer until the girl had exited the room to find someone who had some more chalk for her.
"Sir Harmon has... uhm... interesting features," Sarah said with an embarrassed smile.
Harriet tried to stifle a laugh. "That's a nice understatement. He's one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. And he was obviously smitten with you, cousin."
Sarah impatiently looked down on her idle hands. "I'm supposed to mourn my dead husband, Harriet."
"You have been mourning him for more than a year now, Sarah. You're still a young woman. Try and divert yourself a little bit. And if you should happen to find a husband..." Harriet counseled.
Sarah looked at her cousin uneasily. "I don't know. I don't think it would be proper."
"Just be yourself tonight and we'll see what the future brings." Harriet smiled jovially.
Sarah sighed and resolved to give it a try. 'Yes,' she had to silently admit to herself, 'Yes, Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance did impress me. He seems to care for things that are beyond society and physical well-being. I'd really like to get to know him better.'
"Did you see her, Clay?" Harmon asked from his bed, more speaking to himself than to his closest friend who was trying to get some sleep on the second bed that stood about three meters away.
Clayton smiled. A little more of this and he would finally win his bet. Harmon had bet he'd never meet a woman that could possibly interest him. But that had been before he had learnt about the existence of Lady Sarah Mackenzie. "Yes, Harm, of course I saw her. A real beauty, even in her simple black dress. Good choice."
"Choice?" Harmon was irritated, Clayton could tell that much. Harmon went on, a little too quickly: "I made no choice. I just saw this woman and was attracted to her. Passing moment."
"I'd really appreciate it if it were a passing moment, Harm. Right now we need your expertise and undivided attention for the negotiations about Leinster's future. But obviously I won my bet..."
To Clayton's surprise Harmon didn't shoot him a sharp reply like he normally would have. Harmon only smiled and lay back on his bed, a sure sign that something was up.
"You're probably right, Clay. I'd never dare to admit it to anyone, let alone her. But as you're my best friend... Clay, I think I may have fallen in love with Lady Sarah the moment I saw her. She's someone who always stands her ground. Her manner of not backing away deeply impressed me. And she's the most beautiful woman I have ever met."
"That's quite an admission, Harm," Clayton said thoughtfully. Then he smiled. "Tell her. I'm sure she's feeling something similar towards you. I think I saw the expression in her eyes change from friendly interest to admiration and something beyond I couldn't quite place. Go for her, Harm."
"Never!" his friend replied vehemently. "I'd die trying to get any words out. And who knows if she could love me back. See, I know people marry for simple reasons, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but true love would ever force me into marriage."
"Well, then get ready for church," Clayton smiled and turned to the other side, leaving Harmon staring at his back, open-mouthed.
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!)
Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount; 'Lord of the Dance' is property of Michael Flatley and his company, no copyright infringement intended.
Rating: PG
Category: Romance (H/M), Adventure
Spoiler: Mac has very strange dream - but is she really dreaming? Just a little fairy-tale, utterly out of genre.
Author's note: This story came to my mind when I was driving across the green fields of Brandenburg (a federal state of Germany) on a rainy day, listening to Michael Flatley's 'Lord of the Dance'. I had lots of fun working it out - so I hope some of you may have equal fun reading it!
William Marshall is a historical person. The events described in this story, however, are fictional.
Many, many thanks to Sarah and Heather for beta-reading! ____________________________________________________________________________ __
0311 ZULU Kennedy Center Washington, D.C.
It was the ancient battle of all times, savior against destroyer, good against evil. Advancing, retreating, circling around, the man in white and the man in black fought their deadly duel, one trying to free, one trying to destroy the 'Spirit of the Dance', that lay under the threat of being extinguished. Always increasing in speed and vehemence, the opponents approached the climax of their fight, struggling to reach their victory until finally good triumphed. The servants of the light gathered around their lord, rejoicing in the dark side's defeat.
Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie sat and stared at the stage, subconsciously holding her breath, not noticing that her fingers were tightly clenched on her partner's arm. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr would have watched her in pure amusement, had she not applied an amount of strength that would painfully show itself on his arm afterwards. As thrilled as he was, watching this incredible show, he'd be glad when it would be over because he couldn't feel his right hand anymore. But Mac seemed absolutely swept away by the performance and she was so beautiful in her trance-like state that Harm couldn't bring himself to disturb her. Well, he'd regret that tomorrow, but right now he didn't really mind.
When the lights faded and the music died away Mac leant back in her seat, exhaled and closed her eyes. Then she suddenly became aware of where her hands were and her already rosy cheeks flushed even more. She loosened her grip, causing Harm to wince as his blood immediately returned to his numb hand.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harm." He could tell she was embarrassed. Flashing her a genuine flyboy-grin, he joined in the applause, the clapping soon making his hand come back to normal.
"No problem, Mac. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."
"I really did. Thank you so much for inviting us to come here, Harm."
"Yes, thank you so much, sir... uhm... Harm," Lieutenant Bud Roberts joined in the conversation, beaming brightly. "It's been a great day, right, Harriet?" He smiled at his wife.
"Absolutely! Thank you so much, Harm!" Lieutenant Harriet Sims-Roberts impulsively hugged her superior officer, causing him to feel a little embarrassed.
"Hey, it's been my pleasure," he retorted. "It's my birthday and I wanted to do something really nice with the people closest to me. I'm only sorry the admiral and Sturgis couldn't come."
"I'm sure, the admiral would have liked the idea of getting all of us into such perfect lines and perfect synchrony as those tap-dancers," Mac said with a grin, clapping wildly as the dancers returned on stage and bowed. "But with you around that's impossible, flyboy."
Harm just flashed her a knowing grin and turned his eyes back in front.
Not wanting Harm to refrain from having a glass of wine on his birthday, Mac had volunteered to drive. She had parked her corvette in front of Harm's apartment, leaving him the keys and papers. They had picked up the Roberts' in Harm's SUV that she would drive home in after the show. In the morning, back at JAG, they'd exchange their cars again.
Having dropped the Roberts' off at their house, Mac drove Harm over to his place. Both were lost in their thoughts, barely exchanging a word until Mac stopped the car in front of his entrance. "Thanks again for a magical evening, sailor." She smiled.
Harm suddenly felt unsure of himself. It was one thing riding across Afghanistan in a humvee with Mac and him in cammies. Being in mess dress, with her in a gorgeous evening dress right by his side, closed in the intimacy of a civilian car was something totally different, something he didn't often do and wasn't accustomed to.
"You're very welcome, Marine," he said, smiling back, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger's door. Before exiting he hesitated and turned to face her but didn't know what to say. The only thing he knew was that he didn't want her to leave but he'd rather bite his tongue than let that slip.
Mac, still on the emotional roller-coaster ride caused by the show, didn't really consider her actions as she quickly leaned in and brushed a feather- light kiss to his lips.
"Happy birthday, Harm."
His dumbfounded expression made her chuckle. At the sound he started, swallowed and gave her a puzzled smile, turning to exit the car.
"Thanks for coming, Sarah." He closed the door, waved a shy greeting through the windscreen and watched as she drove off. Thoroughly shaken by her unexpected display of feelings he slowly ascended the steps to his apartment.
0522 ZULU Mac's apartment Georgetown, D.C.
'I can't believe I did that!' she kept scolding herself again and again, blushing at the very thought of their kiss, her knees still slightly unsteady. Why did she always have to do something foolish, every time their friendship was back on track after the painful experiences of the last few years? They'd begun to relax around each other after his return from flying - and she'd had to start that fateful conversation on the ferry. They'd started to come just a little closer again after Mic had come to the States, being out on missions together - and she'd moved the ring. They'd finally spoken from the heart on the admiral's porch, kissing each other, and it had made her feel something she'd never experienced with any other man - and she'd said that they were getting too good at saying goodbye. He'd wanted to talk to her after his crash - and she'd fled to the Guadalcanal.
Now they were comfortable around each other, finally having restored their wonderful friendship - and all she could do was kiss him and make him retreat into his shell. If she could only stop herself from being foolish for once! Maybe Harm even loved her, but his behavior made it clear that he didn't want to be with her. She absolutely had to refrain from making him feel uneasy or she would lose his trust and their close friendship, and that would be the end of the world.
Frustrated, Mac got up and put a CD into her player. Maybe the wonderful music that had swept her away from her problems earlier could do the job again. She switched off the lights and stretched out on her bed, letting reel and hornpipe, harp and fiddle finally take her to dreamland.
A.D. 1302 The O'Hara Castle Leinster, Ireland
The O'Hara's had always been a well-renowned family. For generations, even before the English nobility had taken over all of Ireland, the O'Hara's had been known for their culture and diplomacy. They had always been authorities of counsel and intermediation, respected and valued by English occupants as well as by the Irish natives. It was this unstained reputation and impartiality that had earned the O'Hara's the title of baron, one of the very few Irish families to be held at the same stature as the lower English nobility. It had been William Marshall, Lord of Leinster, the great counselor of King John and regent for minor King Henry III himself, who had rewarded Patrick O'Hara with the baron's title back in 1205, and the family had honored it ever since, although even a century later, they were still not fully accepted as noblemen. They were Irish. And that was a contradiction to nobility.
Baron Matthew O'Hara stood at a window of his castle's great dining hall, looking down on the River Barrow, lost in his thoughts. Those were times of trouble and he was preoccupied for his family as well as his peasants. Just like a hundred years ago, the barons were causing an uproar again, revolting against the lords' sovereignty. Back then it had been William Marshall who had resolved the conflict with supreme diplomatic expertise, counseled to a great extent by Matthew's great-great-great-great grandfather Patrick. The people of Leinster had been given the opportunity to live in peace and not worry about anything else than filling their barns and stores to grant a comfortable life for everyone. But now, everything was different.
Two years ago the problems had started. A young baron named Clark Palmer had found his hero in the person of William Wallace, called Braveheart, who was right now fighting for the rights of his people in Scotland. But unlike Wallace, Palmer's ambitions were all personal. He and his wife Lauren were craving to increase their influence, enlarge their lands and fortunes. And promising the barons a fair share of the prey, they had succeeded in assembling a powerful army of knights, conquering ever larger pieces of Leinster's land. Henry, the rightful Lord of Leinster, had been unable to stop them, and England was too far away. Two knights had been sent back to the royal court, carrying a plea for assistance, but still no answer had reached the Green Isle. So Matthew had not been able to do anything when the barons had joined against Henry, assaulted the lord's castle of Kilkenny and massacred his family. The Marshalls were no more.
To Palmer's astonishment his troops had encountered severe resistance after he had declared himself the new Lord of Leinster. The people, in a last ditch effort, were trying to save their country from a tyrant. But slowly, very slowly, Lord Clark's soldiers were making progress, mercilessly approaching the last shelter of order and rights that was to be found anywhere near: the castle and lands of Baron Matthew O'Hara, who had refused, pointblank, to join the rebels.
"What is it, uncle?" Matthew heard a warm voice from behind him. He turned, a smile spreading over his face. Even being a grown-up woman now, a widow, aged 35 years, his niece still held his heart captive like she had when she had been a little girl and he had come to pay a visit to his sister, her mother, in Scotland.
Lady Sarah Mackenzie was not very much like Lady Deanne O'Hara had been. She was tall and slender, her long dark hair always tied up rather thoroughly without much decoration. Lady Sarah was beautiful and womanly in her features, but her character had a decisively male edge. Sarah was practical and decent in her choice of dress. She didn't consider it inappropriate to pick something up from the floor when she had let it drop, or to wipe something clean herself instead of waiting a long time to have it done by a servant when there was too much work to be done in the rest of the house.
Sarah had grown tough because of her life, having gone through one hell of a marriage with an abusive husband two times her age. Her mother had died shortly after Sarah had been born and her father, Lord Joseph Mackenzie, had married her to the first lucrative candidate. At fifteen years Sarah Mackenzie had become Lady Sarah Ragle. She had had three children but all of them had died in childbed. A year ago, Lord Christopher had been killed fighting at William Wallace's side and as Lord Joseph hadn't wanted to take Sarah back into his house, she had decided to join her mother's family in Ireland. She wasn't quite accepted in society, as for the English nobility she was an O'Hara and for the Irish people she was Scottish. But Sarah didn't really mind. She was long past the anger of not fitting in - in Scotland she had always been considered Irish.
Sarah had loved Ireland from the moment she had arrived. The scenery was so much softer and gentler than in Scotland and her mother's family was the most welcoming people she had ever come to know. She had seen her uncle a few times in Scotland, knowing him to be honest, honorable and kind. His wife Mary had turned out just the same, adding a becoming amount of mischievous humor that she had obviously passed on to her two daughters, Harriet and little Chloe.
In Harriet, Sarah had found the first true friend she had ever had in her life. The slightly younger lively blonde soon ceased to be her cousin and became the sister Sarah had never had. And fourteen-year old Chloe adored and admired Sarah from the bottom of her heart. Sarah would have broken entirely with her past in Scotland, had it not been for her name and the one person who'd accompanied her all the way to Ireland: Father Chegwidden who had baptized and married her and who considered Sarah the daughter he wasn't allowed to have.
"What is it? Tell me," Sarah again gently urged her uncle to speak. She was a very accomplished woman and had sharp wits, combined with thorough knowledge of the world. These qualities made her an agreeable individual to converse with - at least to Matthew who didn't share the public opinion that women weren't supposed to be educated, unless one referred to singing and playing the harp.
He sighed, turning to his niece. "We still don't have word from the king, my dear."
Sarah was getting worried about the current situation, but seeing her uncle bear the weight of concern for all his dependents, she tried to sound reassuring. "I'm sure he won't forget us, uncle."
"Let us just hope help arrives before Palmer does."
Sarah sighed her consent and looked out of the window, down on the narrow road that wound parallel to the Barrow's shore. A few moments later she gasped and only pointed her index finger to where she had been looking: two knights came riding towards the castle, one of them bearing the royal banner.
Hurried activities set in the moment Matthew gave orders to prepare to receive them properly. Sarah smoothed the black dress she was still bound to wear and stepped behind Mary, Harriet and Chloe as the family gathered behind Baron Matthew, ready to greet King Edward's delegates.
A short time later the herald announced the unexpected visitors to the O'Hara's: "Bringing word of King Edward, let us welcome two noblemen, knights of the king's personal trust, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon."
The two knights stepped forward and bowed before Matthew. The slightly shorter one, who had dark blond hair and a somewhat secretive expression on his face, introduced them in full: "Baron Matthew, I am Sir Clayton Webb of Arundel, chief diplomatic ambassador to our king, and this," he motioned to the other knight, a tall, dark-haired man with lively blue-green eyes, who bowed silently, "Is Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance, our king's personal attaché in foreign affairs. We are honored to be received by you and your family and we bear a message from our liege lord. King Edward commands you to stay firm and not surrender to Clark Palmer's troupes. Reinforcements are right now on their way to Ireland in order to restore freedom to Leinster. We are also ordered to prepare a grand counsel of all noblemen in order to elect a new leader for the lands once peace is restored. May we claim your hospitality, baron?"
Matthew was relieved. Finally, there seemed to be a chance to sort out this affair. "We are honored by your presence, Sir Clayton, Sir Harmon. The king's ambassadors will always be welcome in my house. Let me present to you my family: Lady Mary O'Hara, my wife. My daughters, Ladies Harriet and Chloe O'Hara. My second cousin's son Sir Bud Roberts, betrothed to my daughter Harriet. And my niece, daughter of my late sister Lady Deanne: Lady Sarah Mackenzie."
As each of the family had been presented, they had either bowed or curtsied and received bows in return. Nothing special had happened until the moment when Sarah was presented. Sir Harmon had avoided looking openly at anyone of the family, his reluctance of getting too close with people always made him create a wall around himself from the start. But as Lady Sarah stepped forward with a slight, warm smile and sank into an elegant curtsy in front of them, Harmon's control failed him for the very first time.
Harmon and Sarah's eyes met - and held. The fearless knight felt his stomach tighten and his knees begin to shake at seeing her. Though dressed to mourn, the woman before him was still young and had lost nothing of her bloom. Her attitude conveyed silent submission into the women's role but at the same time held an inward rebellion against it and showed the determination to be independent. Her manners came naturally with friendliness but there was something to them that spoke of a deeper dimension. This woman had seen the difficulties of life and had emerged from them with her head uplifted.
But what captivated Harmon most were her huge dark eyes. They showed grace as well as tenacity, strength as well as vulnerability and temper as well as the ability to deeply love and commit. Harmon had never listened to the king and his friends as they were trying to talk him into looking for a possible wife. He'd found women shallow and boring. But this lady in front of him, who didn't shyly avert her eyes but firmly and openly returned his glance, showing rather unwomanly curiosity and a feeling of intellectual equality... Harmon instantly felt connected to her in some strange way. And the idea frightened him in a way he had believed a knight to be resistant to. It was him who finally had to break the eye contact, unable to bear the unknown tension.
Matthew made an inviting gesture towards the two knights. "Let me show you to our guest quarters, sirs, my servants will see to your horses and luggage. And after resting and refreshing yourselves, I hope you will consent to join us tonight for a little private celebration with a number of Irish families, celebrating the saint's day of St. Patrick." Matthew really hoped the Englishmen would agree - their connection with the Irish could indeed prove vital in the political events, as seemingly all the lower English gentry had joined Palmer.
Obviously the knights fully knew the situation and the conflict Matthew faced. "We'd be honored to join you, baron." It was the first thing Sir Harmon had said and Sarah felt a strange attraction to the man upon hearing his voice that reminded her of dark velvet.
"I am glad to hear it, Sir Harmon," Matthew stated with a warm smile. "So, please, sirs, follow me upstairs."
On the way out of the dining hall Harmon turned to cast one last look at Lady Sarah. He lifted his eyes in her direction - only to find her looking at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face.
Harriet, Chloe and Sarah had retreated to the library where they used to spend most of their indoor time. Baron Matthew had a rather unique library for a non-clerical person. It comprised about a hundred and fifty works, mostly religious as the collection had belonged to his great-great grandfather's brother, an abbot. Most people found it somewhat odd that Matthew had books at all - people didn't need to read. The friars did that in the monasteries, and having books copied was very expensive so why should they bother? Sarah was fond of reading, though. Harriet would sit by with her embroidery and Chloe would spend endless hours drawing chalk pictures on little blackboards. There was a comfortable fire burning in the hall and armchairs invited to sit next to it. It was the perfect place to let go of womanly etiquette and be oneself.
But today Sarah found it hard to concentrate on the Virgil she was reading. She had studied quite a bit of Latin with Father Chegwidden's help whenever her husband had been away and she loved the adventures of Aeneas. But today the letters swam in front of her eyes, even though they had been copied by a very capable person. And reading with a blurred vision was always dangerous to the precious and expensive books as a falling tear threatened to leave traces on the writing, washing away some ink. So finally Sarah closed the huge book with a sigh, letting herself sink back in her armchair.
Harriet smiled knowingly at her. "You should have seen yourself, Sarah," she said quietly. "Your eyes seemed like magnets holding Sir Harmon's glance."
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked indignantly, blushing despite herself.
Harriet's smile only grew. "It's me, Sarah, no need to deny it. I witnessed your exchange with the king's attaché. He fascinates you."
Seeing Chloe look up with interest, Sarah chose not to answer until the girl had exited the room to find someone who had some more chalk for her.
"Sir Harmon has... uhm... interesting features," Sarah said with an embarrassed smile.
Harriet tried to stifle a laugh. "That's a nice understatement. He's one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. And he was obviously smitten with you, cousin."
Sarah impatiently looked down on her idle hands. "I'm supposed to mourn my dead husband, Harriet."
"You have been mourning him for more than a year now, Sarah. You're still a young woman. Try and divert yourself a little bit. And if you should happen to find a husband..." Harriet counseled.
Sarah looked at her cousin uneasily. "I don't know. I don't think it would be proper."
"Just be yourself tonight and we'll see what the future brings." Harriet smiled jovially.
Sarah sighed and resolved to give it a try. 'Yes,' she had to silently admit to herself, 'Yes, Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance did impress me. He seems to care for things that are beyond society and physical well-being. I'd really like to get to know him better.'
"Did you see her, Clay?" Harmon asked from his bed, more speaking to himself than to his closest friend who was trying to get some sleep on the second bed that stood about three meters away.
Clayton smiled. A little more of this and he would finally win his bet. Harmon had bet he'd never meet a woman that could possibly interest him. But that had been before he had learnt about the existence of Lady Sarah Mackenzie. "Yes, Harm, of course I saw her. A real beauty, even in her simple black dress. Good choice."
"Choice?" Harmon was irritated, Clayton could tell that much. Harmon went on, a little too quickly: "I made no choice. I just saw this woman and was attracted to her. Passing moment."
"I'd really appreciate it if it were a passing moment, Harm. Right now we need your expertise and undivided attention for the negotiations about Leinster's future. But obviously I won my bet..."
To Clayton's surprise Harmon didn't shoot him a sharp reply like he normally would have. Harmon only smiled and lay back on his bed, a sure sign that something was up.
"You're probably right, Clay. I'd never dare to admit it to anyone, let alone her. But as you're my best friend... Clay, I think I may have fallen in love with Lady Sarah the moment I saw her. She's someone who always stands her ground. Her manner of not backing away deeply impressed me. And she's the most beautiful woman I have ever met."
"That's quite an admission, Harm," Clayton said thoughtfully. Then he smiled. "Tell her. I'm sure she's feeling something similar towards you. I think I saw the expression in her eyes change from friendly interest to admiration and something beyond I couldn't quite place. Go for her, Harm."
"Never!" his friend replied vehemently. "I'd die trying to get any words out. And who knows if she could love me back. See, I know people marry for simple reasons, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but true love would ever force me into marriage."
"Well, then get ready for church," Clayton smiled and turned to the other side, leaving Harmon staring at his back, open-mouthed.
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!)
