'Once upon a time on a green, green island' - Part Two
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One
From part one:
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 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 reason, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but true love would ever induce 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.
Part Two:
Clad in the finest garments they had brought (diplomatic negotiations always required a certain level of decorum), Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon after sunset descended into the great dining hall that was lit by what must have been about a hundred small torches. Harmon watched his friend as he gallantly greeted Lady Mary. Why did Clay always prefer wearing this inconspicuous dark gray? He was a good-looking man, a little color would do him good.
The outfit Harmon preferred for official occasions always earned him praise. It was as modest as Clay's to be sure, but the whole set of garments had been bleached to a beautiful ivory white that gave its wearer a slightly aristocratic air. And in addition to that, Harmon always wore an old gold pin on the left side of his chest. He had inherited it from his father and it showed an eagle spreading his wings. He didn't know why, but somehow Harmon had always held this pin in the highest esteem.
Having greeted Baron Matthew and Lady Mary, Clayton and Harmon were led over to the long dining table. They didn't notice the slight smile and the wink that the servant who guided them cast at Lady Harriet who quickly stifled a satisfied smile.
"Sir Harmon," the servant now spoke up stiffly, "Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight." He turned to the woman that was approaching them a little shyly. A smile graced Sarah Mackenzie's features. Harmon's breath caught in his throat.
"Lady Sarah, meet Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance," the servant announced.
Harmon's eyes were at once drawn to those dark ones of hers, that seemed deep but yet impenetrable, full of a mystery Harmon didn't know anything about. He was frightened and fascinated at the same time. "At your service, milady," he said with a slight bow, never breaking the eye contact, his voice just a little hoarse. Sarah looked even more beautiful than she had upon his arrival. She was still wearing black, but there was some decent embroidery visible around her waist, worked in delicate dark red silk threats. And she was wearing a single dark red silk ribbon woven into her pinned-up hair. With a smile, he pulled back her chair for her.
The moment she saw him smile for the first time, Sarah knew hers was a hopeless case. This was no ordinary smile. It was a spell, flooding through her body, weakening her mind, causing her heart to start beating wildly. Willing herself to hold his glance, Sarah gracefully held out her right hand, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was trembling. "I'm honored, Sir Harmon."
Harmon swallowed as he took her hand. He bowed again and very softly placed a kiss on her knuckles. He knew very well that his lips weren't supposed to touch her skin, but he couldn't refrain from stealing a second of physical contact with her. He felt her start and at once glanced up apologetically. But to his astonishment, he didn't see traces of annoyance on her beautiful features. Her expression had changed from curiosity to... embarrassed excitement? The smile that she now cast him made him involuntarily hold on to his chair as they sat down.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Sarah spoke up in a low voice. "Sir, I hope you'll find your place close enough to my uncle's to conduct any necessary conversations."
Her statement caught him totally off-guard. Harmon had suspected that she would be interested to some degree in what was going on in the outside world, but it surprised him to actually find her informed about why they were here. "Umm... yes, thank you, milady. I am quite comfortable with the situation." Another smile.
"The families present tonight would be part of the nobility, if they weren't Irish," Sarah went on in a guarded voice, her expression showing an easy smile, though. Harmon decided it had to be some kind of a diversionary tactic. The others didn't need to know they were talking politics.
"Where do they belong instead?" he only asked.
"They are mostly tradesmen and salesmen, wealthy, all of them, but only few have access to society. As I said, we're not English." Was that a sharp edge in her soft voice?
"Do you resent the English?" he asked carefully.
"Some of them I do. But as you may have noticed," she cast him a wry smile, "I'm not really accepted either. To the English I'm Irish, to the Irish I'm Scottish, and the Scotsmen gladly sent me back to Ireland again."
Harmon decided he liked her sense of irony.
"You know, milady," he whispered conspiratorially, "Like you, I'm some kind of a wanderer between those two countries. So far we are equal."
She observed him closely, one eyebrow up. "How so, Sir Harmon?"
He tried half a smile. "My mother was born in Ireland but left with her family when she was still very young."
Sarah found his smile too contagious to remain earnest. Flashing him back a full one, but one with a decisively mocking tendency, she remarked: "Nice try by an Englishman to fraternize with us outcasts. But I bet your family's always been English, even though they were living here. Or am I mistaken, sir?"
Enchanted by the mischievous knowing sparkle in her eyes, Harmon held up his hands in defense, chuckling. "Milady, you are a mind-reader. I confess."
She only smiled back, losing herself in those blue-green eyes of his and trying to stay calm, at least outwardly.
Clayton had been left alone for a minute when the servant had taken Harmon away to show him to his place. Now he became aware of Lady Harriet walking towards him, accompanied by a petite woman with dark brown hair and light blue eyes.
"Sir Clayton, it's a pleasure to see you," Harriet greeted him, smiling.
"Milady..." Clayton exercised a perfect bow and blew a gallant kiss to her outstretched hand.
"Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight," Harriet said, indicating her friend. "Miss Aine O'Meara, my father's steward's daughter and a very dear friend."
Clayton silently greeted the young lady, his schooled vision instantly measuring her. She seemed fragile and in need of protection but something around the corners of her mouth belied the impression. Her smile was self- confident and her light blue eyes, that on first impression had seemed angelic, on a closer look showed a carefully guarded iron will and intelligence. 'This is interesting,' he thought, puzzled by her appearance. The freckles on her nose only added to his confusion about not being able to place her into a scheme.
"Sir, I believe you will find Aine a very interesting person." Clayton all but jumped at the forceful undertone Harriet's voice had suddenly taken on. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
"Aine is a close companion to Lady Lauren Palmer," Harriet explained, her voice very low. "Of course in Kilkenny she's not known as Aine O'Meara. She has been presented at Palmer's court as Megan Connelly, daughter of a London jeweler who sent her back to Ireland to get to know her roots."
Clayton's eyebrows went up a notch. 'This lady is definitely interesting.' "I am very pleased to meet you, Miss O'Meara."
"Likewise, Sir Clayton." Her voice was clear, not too high-pitched and very melodious.
Clayton offered his arm to Aine and led her over to the table. At a sign from one of the servants, they sat down face to face with Harmon and Sarah. Next to Clayton sat Lady Mary and Baron Matthew, Harriet took the chair next to Harmon and Sir Bud sat down next to her. To Sarah's right appeared an elderly balding friar, pulling up a chair for Chloe at his side and introducing himself as Father Chegwidden.
Clayton's puzzled glance met Harmon's. His friend raised his eyebrows and shrugged. So Clayton decided to try the direct approach as soon as the first course had been served. "Baron," he asked in a guarded voice, "Excuse me if I seem a little rude, but do you want us to discuss politics in the company of the ladies?"
Matthew decided not to take offence. The question hadn't shown any disrespect, only curiosity about this rather uncommon situation. "Yes, Sir Clayton," he answered openly. "I am aware that this may seem inappropriate but in this house, whoever takes an interest in the recent events and has shown himself or herself capable of digesting them intellectually, is always free to participate in the conversation, including the ladies."
"I see, baron." If Clayton was surprised he didn't show it.
"But I suggest we eat first," Matthew added with a smile.
"Amen to that," Father Chegwidden remarked dryly, speaking up for the first time and surprising the knights.
'A gruff-looking clergyman with a sense of humor. The world never ceases to surprise me,' Harmon thought, hiding a smile. Sarah had seen it, though.
"Father Chegwidden is a very dear friend," she told him in a 'private- conversation' tone. Her face sobered as she went on: "I guess I owe it to him that I made it this far. He was always there for me when I needed comfort."
Harmon fought his curiosity. He craved to learn more about Lady Sarah, and the sadness and resignation that, for the briefest moment, had shown in her eyes, had made him want to gather her into his arms and protect her from the memories that were obviously haunting her. However, he quickly became aware that she didn't need protection. Studying Harmon's face intently, Sarah's own slowly lit up again to a huge smirk.
"No need to hide your curiosity, sir. I've seen this expression too often on Chloe's face. It never escapes my notice. You are free to ask questions, sir, which I am free not to answer. Go ahead." She smiled at him openly.
'My God, I claim to be a diplomat and a skilled negotiator. I can't be that obvious, can I?' Harmon was mentally slapping himself as a slight blush crept to his cheeks and he embarrassedly averted his eyes for a moment. Finally he decided that taking her up on her offer would be the easiest way out. "Thank you, milady, and I beg your pardon if I touch a topic you would rather not remember. But as I am, as you say, free to ask any questions: When did your husband die?"
"It's been a little more than a year now, sir," she answered openly, not in the least offended. Sensing what kind of information the knight would probably like to gather and feeling eager herself to supply him with the important facts, she added: "I was married to Lord Christopher Ragle, back in Scotland, for the last twenty years."
Harmon's eyes nearly popped out of their holes. Twenty years! She had to be much nearer his own age - forty - than he'd have thought possible. She looked so young. "Do you... do you have any children?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, feeling a sudden sting of jealousy towards the man who had been allowed to love this woman for so long.
Her expression clouded and, swallowing, she looked down on her plate.
"I beg your pardon, milady. Don't answer if it hurts you." 'Ever the diplomat, Harmon, ever the diplomat. You do a thorough job conjuring up bad memories,' he scolded himself.
"No, I'll answer," she replied very low, again looking up to him. Sarah was astonished by herself. She had spoken of her children to no one else but Father Chegwidden and Harriet. Everyone in her family knew about them, of course, but no one ever alluded to it. Strangely, though, Sarah felt she wanted to talk to Harmon about her shattered dreams of having a family. She barely knew him but somehow she felt he was someone to confide in. The realization made her uneasy but she tried to ignore the feeling.
"I was sixteen when my firstborn, Christopher, died while I was giving birth." Her voice was strained and low, but something deep inside urged her to go on. "My second child, Deanne, was allowed to live a week before the Lord took her to him. When I was twenty, I had another son, Matthew, who was born far too early to survive. After that I've never been blessed with a child again. And I never will be, I'm afraid." The last was added in a whisper.
Harmon felt the desperate need to ease some of the pain showing on Sarah's beautiful features. But he didn't know how. How could he? The idea of having a family had never occurred to him. Until today... With a start he realized where his thoughts were heading. With all the mental strength he could muster, he banished them from his mind. "At least you had your husband to comfort and support you." It sounded lame.
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "He was most comforting to me when he was far away. I could at least feel sure to go to sleep in one piece. I had Father Chegwidden to help me. He taught me to read and write and to read Latin, too. I spent many hours in the library of the nearby monastery. It was the kind of diversion I needed." Sarah was scrutinizing the food on her plate.
"I am infinitely sorry, milady. I shouldn't have started asking questions." Harmon didn't know where to look. His left hand that was resting on his thigh had clenched to a tight fist when he had understood just what kind of a marriage she had endured in the last twenty years. How could a man be blessed with such a woman and treat her in such a way?
"I offered to answer them," was her simple reply. She looked up again and met his glance. An incredible feeling of warmth and shelter welled up inside her as she heard him say: "Don't let go of your dreams, milady. I can feel that one day they will finally come true. All of them."
Clayton and Aine had been talking animatedly about almost everything. Clayton found his partner a bright and amusing woman, thoroughly educated and equipped with an accurate sense of judgment. Obviously she had attended private lessons together with Harriet. Aine had been lucky that her father's master clung to the odd point of view that women should have their share of education. And to that she added an amazing readiness to respond, parrying every sharp sentence he shot her. Clayton reluctantly admitted to himself that he deliberately challenged her because he had come to like the sparkle that was showing in her eyes when she was preparing for attack.
Suddenly Aine leant close to him and conspiratorially said: "Look at your friend and Sarah. They seem to have forgotten we even exist."
Clayton's smirk was huge. "I guess Harmon owes me a bottle of whiskey from his father's distillery."
Aine looked at him with a mocking frown. "Why?"
"Because Harmon the Impenetrable Heart has finally fallen in love with someone."
"Was it that improbable that he would some day?"
Clayton chuckled at her indignant impression. "At least to him, yes. He has never had an interest in women. Of course he had his share of experience when he was still a little younger but there has never been one single female human being that came even close to enchant him. God knows, all our friends, his family, even the king himself tried to convince him to marry but he is stubborn. Whoever we came up with - the ladies never suited him."
"And you, sir?"
Her question caught him totally off-guard. He choked on his wine and needed a few moments to regain his breathing. Suddenly feeling uneasy, he replied lightly: "Fifteen years ago there was a girl I proposed to. She wouldn't have me. End of conversation. I find I am far better off like this. And I don't suffer any teasing because I tried." He smiled innocently.
"Ah," was all she said. Somehow Clayton got the unwelcome feeling that inwardly Aine was laughing at his expense. And more disturbing still was the fact that it bothered him this much.
"Miss O'Meara," Baron Matthew now cut in, "I think the other guests are busy with their meals and their own conversations now. Would you mind giving us the news now that you spoke of?"
Everyone in the family circle, including the two knights, immediately turned their attention to her.
"Of course, baron," Aine answered readily. "The situation is easily described: Palmer somehow learnt of King Edward moving his army towards the Irish sea, planning to cross it from the Welsh land's end. Palmer's soldiers set up an ambush to greet the royal troops once they set foot on Irish soil."
"Do we know anything about the exact location and the nature of this ambush?" Harmon asked.
"Unfortunately not yet. We haven't yet found a suitable solution to the problem of viewing the situation unobtrusively," Aine answered with a frown.
"We can't spare any men right now," Matthew sighed. "Palmer's troops are closing in and I need my men to defend their families. So who could be sent?"
"Baron, if I may... I have a proposition to make," Aine ventured boldly. Astonished glances met her eyes. "You could spare Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as you didn't count on them when you and my father first prepared your defenses. They could go, examine the situation and immediately cross over to Wales to meet and warn the king, whereas... someone else would return and brief you."
Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I know that expression, Miss O'Meara. Your father's is just the same when he is up to something. So, tell me, who would get the news back to the castle?"
"Lady Sarah, Father Chegwidden and I would, baron." Aine's expression was devoid of any joking. As she saw that several people - mostly male - around the table were all taking deep breaths to vehemently contradict, she held up a hand. "I proposed my plan to my father and after calming down and thinking about it, he found that it might actually be our only chance to do it and still guarantee a certain safety for the messengers. Sarah and I would be traveling as nuns, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as friars. Father Chegwidden would be head of our group, the friars escorting their sisters in God to another monastery, farther away from the uproars. Being clericals, we would be relatively safe on the road."
'Good one, this one!' Clayton thought, suppressing a grin. He was the first to break the stunned silence that prevailed as Aine's words sank in. "I think, Miss O'Meara has indeed found the only practicable solution to our dilemma. Lady Sarah, would you agree to participate?"
Matthew tried to intervene but his niece was quicker. "Of course I do." Seeing the way her jaw was set, Matthew sighed, knowing there would be no way to dissuade her from going. Harmon cast Clayton a worried glance but after a minute silently consented. Given the situation as it was, this would indeed turn out to be the best way to proceed. He only dreaded to involve Sarah in a situation like this.
"Don't make yourself uneasy, gentlemen," Father Chegwidden spoke up. "I promise to bring them back safely."
Matthew looked at his wife, at Bud, at Harriet - and finally shrugged as he found that they all agreed with Aine. "All right. The five of you shall ride tomorrow morning."
They had finished their fruit as a couple of musicians were led into the room, took a stand at the far side and started to play a merry reel.
"Oh, come on, let's dance and forget about politics for awhile!" Harriet eagerly got up and dragged her fiancé with her. Matthew and Mary just watched, smiling.
"Do you dance, Miss O'Meara?" Clayton heard himself say, utterly unable to explain where the idea had come from. He never danced although he had learnt it as part of a young nobleman's general education. Harmon's head snapped up and he stared incredulously at his friend, who was beginning to regret making the offer.
Aine radiantly beamed at Clayton. "I love dancing, sir. I'm honored by your offer and I gladly accept."
Harmon took a deep breath and, feeling unsure, turned to Sarah. "Might I claim this dance, milady?"
"I am sorry," she replied, looking down at her hands that were lying idly in her lap. Harmon's heart sank. He had offended her with his questions, he knew it. Sarah looked up again, longing and sadness shining in her eyes. "I would love to dance with you, Sir Harmon, but it wouldn't be proper. I am still mourning my late husband."
Normally this would have been sad news, but Harmon's relief that it hadn't been his fault made him smile. "May I suggest a little fresh air on the terrace then, milady?"
Sarah's face immediately lit up. "With pleasure."
Neither of the two noticed the smiles Matthew, Mary and Father Chegwidden exchanged behind their backs.
Outside, a starry sky was spreading over the castle. Harmon and Sarah were alone on the huge stone terrace that provided a spectacular view over the many curves of the river Barrow whose waters were reflecting the starlight. Standing side by side and silently enjoying the atmosphere, neither of them spoke a word. Only after quite some time Sarah addressed him quietly.
"When all this is over, what will you do, Sir Harmon?"
He let his gaze wander far off. "Right now I don't know. With the upcoming political developments there might be a major change of position in store for me. If I prove myself capable in the negotiations, that is."
"Do you really think people will be able to agree on a new sovereign for Leinster?" she asked thoughtfully, doubts shining in her voice. To her astonishment, his answer bore audible traces of a smile.
"Clayton and I might just have a little surprise weapon in our pockets," was all he said and she sensed that he wouldn't dwell on the subject any further.
"So, what do you do, once your mourning is over?" he asked after a while. He had meant to say it lightly, but failed.
"I don't know, either," she replied with a sigh. "I won't have much of a choice. I can either remarry or stay right here." He knew she was being realistic and the injustice of her situation hit him. He wanted her to be able to decide her fate entirely by herself. She deserved it.
"Why don't you do something different? You are an independent woman, Lady Sarah. Go and get to know the world," he encouraged her. Her bitter laugh hurt.
"It's easy for you to propose something of the kind, sir. You are a man. Although I feel up to the challenge I could never do it. Being a woman can be kind of a prison." She sighed. "Do you know how lucky you are, sir? You are free in your decisions. There is absolutely no one to tell you what to do except God and the king and your local sovereign."
She was wrong. She was wrong and he had to tell her, now. Looking down and locking his gaze with hers, he softly and intensely replied: "Until yesterday I would have agreed. But today I find that my situation will never be the same again. There is someone who can order me. Sarah," he swallowed, "My heart..." He put his right hand to the left side of his chest. "My voice..." With his fingertips he touched his lower lip. "And my mind..." He brought his fingertips to his temple. "Are yours to command." His right hand closed to a fist, he put it to his left shoulder and inclined his head in silent submission before her.
When he looked up again, he found her eyes brimming with tears. "Harmon," she softly answered, making his heart beat frantically at her informal use of his name, "My mind..." She gently put her fingertips to her temple. "My voice..." She softly touched her lower lip. "And my heart..." She laid her right hand on the left side of her chest, never breaking the eye contact. "Are yours to possess." She held her hand out to him, her palm turned up.
Harmon's hand was trembling when his fingers encircled hers. They stood frozen in their position for several long minutes, lost in each other's eyes. Finally, she gently pulled her hand away, offering him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
"Good night, Harmon."
"Good night, Sarah."
She turned and entered the hall, excused herself from society, claiming she needed some sleep before going on their secret mission in the morning, and went upstairs. Laying down on her bed, the image of Harmon was the last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep.
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!)
From part one:
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 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 reason, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but true love would ever induce 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.
Part Two:
Clad in the finest garments they had brought (diplomatic negotiations always required a certain level of decorum), Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon after sunset descended into the great dining hall that was lit by what must have been about a hundred small torches. Harmon watched his friend as he gallantly greeted Lady Mary. Why did Clay always prefer wearing this inconspicuous dark gray? He was a good-looking man, a little color would do him good.
The outfit Harmon preferred for official occasions always earned him praise. It was as modest as Clay's to be sure, but the whole set of garments had been bleached to a beautiful ivory white that gave its wearer a slightly aristocratic air. And in addition to that, Harmon always wore an old gold pin on the left side of his chest. He had inherited it from his father and it showed an eagle spreading his wings. He didn't know why, but somehow Harmon had always held this pin in the highest esteem.
Having greeted Baron Matthew and Lady Mary, Clayton and Harmon were led over to the long dining table. They didn't notice the slight smile and the wink that the servant who guided them cast at Lady Harriet who quickly stifled a satisfied smile.
"Sir Harmon," the servant now spoke up stiffly, "Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight." He turned to the woman that was approaching them a little shyly. A smile graced Sarah Mackenzie's features. Harmon's breath caught in his throat.
"Lady Sarah, meet Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance," the servant announced.
Harmon's eyes were at once drawn to those dark ones of hers, that seemed deep but yet impenetrable, full of a mystery Harmon didn't know anything about. He was frightened and fascinated at the same time. "At your service, milady," he said with a slight bow, never breaking the eye contact, his voice just a little hoarse. Sarah looked even more beautiful than she had upon his arrival. She was still wearing black, but there was some decent embroidery visible around her waist, worked in delicate dark red silk threats. And she was wearing a single dark red silk ribbon woven into her pinned-up hair. With a smile, he pulled back her chair for her.
The moment she saw him smile for the first time, Sarah knew hers was a hopeless case. This was no ordinary smile. It was a spell, flooding through her body, weakening her mind, causing her heart to start beating wildly. Willing herself to hold his glance, Sarah gracefully held out her right hand, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was trembling. "I'm honored, Sir Harmon."
Harmon swallowed as he took her hand. He bowed again and very softly placed a kiss on her knuckles. He knew very well that his lips weren't supposed to touch her skin, but he couldn't refrain from stealing a second of physical contact with her. He felt her start and at once glanced up apologetically. But to his astonishment, he didn't see traces of annoyance on her beautiful features. Her expression had changed from curiosity to... embarrassed excitement? The smile that she now cast him made him involuntarily hold on to his chair as they sat down.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Sarah spoke up in a low voice. "Sir, I hope you'll find your place close enough to my uncle's to conduct any necessary conversations."
Her statement caught him totally off-guard. Harmon had suspected that she would be interested to some degree in what was going on in the outside world, but it surprised him to actually find her informed about why they were here. "Umm... yes, thank you, milady. I am quite comfortable with the situation." Another smile.
"The families present tonight would be part of the nobility, if they weren't Irish," Sarah went on in a guarded voice, her expression showing an easy smile, though. Harmon decided it had to be some kind of a diversionary tactic. The others didn't need to know they were talking politics.
"Where do they belong instead?" he only asked.
"They are mostly tradesmen and salesmen, wealthy, all of them, but only few have access to society. As I said, we're not English." Was that a sharp edge in her soft voice?
"Do you resent the English?" he asked carefully.
"Some of them I do. But as you may have noticed," she cast him a wry smile, "I'm not really accepted either. To the English I'm Irish, to the Irish I'm Scottish, and the Scotsmen gladly sent me back to Ireland again."
Harmon decided he liked her sense of irony.
"You know, milady," he whispered conspiratorially, "Like you, I'm some kind of a wanderer between those two countries. So far we are equal."
She observed him closely, one eyebrow up. "How so, Sir Harmon?"
He tried half a smile. "My mother was born in Ireland but left with her family when she was still very young."
Sarah found his smile too contagious to remain earnest. Flashing him back a full one, but one with a decisively mocking tendency, she remarked: "Nice try by an Englishman to fraternize with us outcasts. But I bet your family's always been English, even though they were living here. Or am I mistaken, sir?"
Enchanted by the mischievous knowing sparkle in her eyes, Harmon held up his hands in defense, chuckling. "Milady, you are a mind-reader. I confess."
She only smiled back, losing herself in those blue-green eyes of his and trying to stay calm, at least outwardly.
Clayton had been left alone for a minute when the servant had taken Harmon away to show him to his place. Now he became aware of Lady Harriet walking towards him, accompanied by a petite woman with dark brown hair and light blue eyes.
"Sir Clayton, it's a pleasure to see you," Harriet greeted him, smiling.
"Milady..." Clayton exercised a perfect bow and blew a gallant kiss to her outstretched hand.
"Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight," Harriet said, indicating her friend. "Miss Aine O'Meara, my father's steward's daughter and a very dear friend."
Clayton silently greeted the young lady, his schooled vision instantly measuring her. She seemed fragile and in need of protection but something around the corners of her mouth belied the impression. Her smile was self- confident and her light blue eyes, that on first impression had seemed angelic, on a closer look showed a carefully guarded iron will and intelligence. 'This is interesting,' he thought, puzzled by her appearance. The freckles on her nose only added to his confusion about not being able to place her into a scheme.
"Sir, I believe you will find Aine a very interesting person." Clayton all but jumped at the forceful undertone Harriet's voice had suddenly taken on. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
"Aine is a close companion to Lady Lauren Palmer," Harriet explained, her voice very low. "Of course in Kilkenny she's not known as Aine O'Meara. She has been presented at Palmer's court as Megan Connelly, daughter of a London jeweler who sent her back to Ireland to get to know her roots."
Clayton's eyebrows went up a notch. 'This lady is definitely interesting.' "I am very pleased to meet you, Miss O'Meara."
"Likewise, Sir Clayton." Her voice was clear, not too high-pitched and very melodious.
Clayton offered his arm to Aine and led her over to the table. At a sign from one of the servants, they sat down face to face with Harmon and Sarah. Next to Clayton sat Lady Mary and Baron Matthew, Harriet took the chair next to Harmon and Sir Bud sat down next to her. To Sarah's right appeared an elderly balding friar, pulling up a chair for Chloe at his side and introducing himself as Father Chegwidden.
Clayton's puzzled glance met Harmon's. His friend raised his eyebrows and shrugged. So Clayton decided to try the direct approach as soon as the first course had been served. "Baron," he asked in a guarded voice, "Excuse me if I seem a little rude, but do you want us to discuss politics in the company of the ladies?"
Matthew decided not to take offence. The question hadn't shown any disrespect, only curiosity about this rather uncommon situation. "Yes, Sir Clayton," he answered openly. "I am aware that this may seem inappropriate but in this house, whoever takes an interest in the recent events and has shown himself or herself capable of digesting them intellectually, is always free to participate in the conversation, including the ladies."
"I see, baron." If Clayton was surprised he didn't show it.
"But I suggest we eat first," Matthew added with a smile.
"Amen to that," Father Chegwidden remarked dryly, speaking up for the first time and surprising the knights.
'A gruff-looking clergyman with a sense of humor. The world never ceases to surprise me,' Harmon thought, hiding a smile. Sarah had seen it, though.
"Father Chegwidden is a very dear friend," she told him in a 'private- conversation' tone. Her face sobered as she went on: "I guess I owe it to him that I made it this far. He was always there for me when I needed comfort."
Harmon fought his curiosity. He craved to learn more about Lady Sarah, and the sadness and resignation that, for the briefest moment, had shown in her eyes, had made him want to gather her into his arms and protect her from the memories that were obviously haunting her. However, he quickly became aware that she didn't need protection. Studying Harmon's face intently, Sarah's own slowly lit up again to a huge smirk.
"No need to hide your curiosity, sir. I've seen this expression too often on Chloe's face. It never escapes my notice. You are free to ask questions, sir, which I am free not to answer. Go ahead." She smiled at him openly.
'My God, I claim to be a diplomat and a skilled negotiator. I can't be that obvious, can I?' Harmon was mentally slapping himself as a slight blush crept to his cheeks and he embarrassedly averted his eyes for a moment. Finally he decided that taking her up on her offer would be the easiest way out. "Thank you, milady, and I beg your pardon if I touch a topic you would rather not remember. But as I am, as you say, free to ask any questions: When did your husband die?"
"It's been a little more than a year now, sir," she answered openly, not in the least offended. Sensing what kind of information the knight would probably like to gather and feeling eager herself to supply him with the important facts, she added: "I was married to Lord Christopher Ragle, back in Scotland, for the last twenty years."
Harmon's eyes nearly popped out of their holes. Twenty years! She had to be much nearer his own age - forty - than he'd have thought possible. She looked so young. "Do you... do you have any children?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, feeling a sudden sting of jealousy towards the man who had been allowed to love this woman for so long.
Her expression clouded and, swallowing, she looked down on her plate.
"I beg your pardon, milady. Don't answer if it hurts you." 'Ever the diplomat, Harmon, ever the diplomat. You do a thorough job conjuring up bad memories,' he scolded himself.
"No, I'll answer," she replied very low, again looking up to him. Sarah was astonished by herself. She had spoken of her children to no one else but Father Chegwidden and Harriet. Everyone in her family knew about them, of course, but no one ever alluded to it. Strangely, though, Sarah felt she wanted to talk to Harmon about her shattered dreams of having a family. She barely knew him but somehow she felt he was someone to confide in. The realization made her uneasy but she tried to ignore the feeling.
"I was sixteen when my firstborn, Christopher, died while I was giving birth." Her voice was strained and low, but something deep inside urged her to go on. "My second child, Deanne, was allowed to live a week before the Lord took her to him. When I was twenty, I had another son, Matthew, who was born far too early to survive. After that I've never been blessed with a child again. And I never will be, I'm afraid." The last was added in a whisper.
Harmon felt the desperate need to ease some of the pain showing on Sarah's beautiful features. But he didn't know how. How could he? The idea of having a family had never occurred to him. Until today... With a start he realized where his thoughts were heading. With all the mental strength he could muster, he banished them from his mind. "At least you had your husband to comfort and support you." It sounded lame.
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "He was most comforting to me when he was far away. I could at least feel sure to go to sleep in one piece. I had Father Chegwidden to help me. He taught me to read and write and to read Latin, too. I spent many hours in the library of the nearby monastery. It was the kind of diversion I needed." Sarah was scrutinizing the food on her plate.
"I am infinitely sorry, milady. I shouldn't have started asking questions." Harmon didn't know where to look. His left hand that was resting on his thigh had clenched to a tight fist when he had understood just what kind of a marriage she had endured in the last twenty years. How could a man be blessed with such a woman and treat her in such a way?
"I offered to answer them," was her simple reply. She looked up again and met his glance. An incredible feeling of warmth and shelter welled up inside her as she heard him say: "Don't let go of your dreams, milady. I can feel that one day they will finally come true. All of them."
Clayton and Aine had been talking animatedly about almost everything. Clayton found his partner a bright and amusing woman, thoroughly educated and equipped with an accurate sense of judgment. Obviously she had attended private lessons together with Harriet. Aine had been lucky that her father's master clung to the odd point of view that women should have their share of education. And to that she added an amazing readiness to respond, parrying every sharp sentence he shot her. Clayton reluctantly admitted to himself that he deliberately challenged her because he had come to like the sparkle that was showing in her eyes when she was preparing for attack.
Suddenly Aine leant close to him and conspiratorially said: "Look at your friend and Sarah. They seem to have forgotten we even exist."
Clayton's smirk was huge. "I guess Harmon owes me a bottle of whiskey from his father's distillery."
Aine looked at him with a mocking frown. "Why?"
"Because Harmon the Impenetrable Heart has finally fallen in love with someone."
"Was it that improbable that he would some day?"
Clayton chuckled at her indignant impression. "At least to him, yes. He has never had an interest in women. Of course he had his share of experience when he was still a little younger but there has never been one single female human being that came even close to enchant him. God knows, all our friends, his family, even the king himself tried to convince him to marry but he is stubborn. Whoever we came up with - the ladies never suited him."
"And you, sir?"
Her question caught him totally off-guard. He choked on his wine and needed a few moments to regain his breathing. Suddenly feeling uneasy, he replied lightly: "Fifteen years ago there was a girl I proposed to. She wouldn't have me. End of conversation. I find I am far better off like this. And I don't suffer any teasing because I tried." He smiled innocently.
"Ah," was all she said. Somehow Clayton got the unwelcome feeling that inwardly Aine was laughing at his expense. And more disturbing still was the fact that it bothered him this much.
"Miss O'Meara," Baron Matthew now cut in, "I think the other guests are busy with their meals and their own conversations now. Would you mind giving us the news now that you spoke of?"
Everyone in the family circle, including the two knights, immediately turned their attention to her.
"Of course, baron," Aine answered readily. "The situation is easily described: Palmer somehow learnt of King Edward moving his army towards the Irish sea, planning to cross it from the Welsh land's end. Palmer's soldiers set up an ambush to greet the royal troops once they set foot on Irish soil."
"Do we know anything about the exact location and the nature of this ambush?" Harmon asked.
"Unfortunately not yet. We haven't yet found a suitable solution to the problem of viewing the situation unobtrusively," Aine answered with a frown.
"We can't spare any men right now," Matthew sighed. "Palmer's troops are closing in and I need my men to defend their families. So who could be sent?"
"Baron, if I may... I have a proposition to make," Aine ventured boldly. Astonished glances met her eyes. "You could spare Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as you didn't count on them when you and my father first prepared your defenses. They could go, examine the situation and immediately cross over to Wales to meet and warn the king, whereas... someone else would return and brief you."
Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I know that expression, Miss O'Meara. Your father's is just the same when he is up to something. So, tell me, who would get the news back to the castle?"
"Lady Sarah, Father Chegwidden and I would, baron." Aine's expression was devoid of any joking. As she saw that several people - mostly male - around the table were all taking deep breaths to vehemently contradict, she held up a hand. "I proposed my plan to my father and after calming down and thinking about it, he found that it might actually be our only chance to do it and still guarantee a certain safety for the messengers. Sarah and I would be traveling as nuns, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as friars. Father Chegwidden would be head of our group, the friars escorting their sisters in God to another monastery, farther away from the uproars. Being clericals, we would be relatively safe on the road."
'Good one, this one!' Clayton thought, suppressing a grin. He was the first to break the stunned silence that prevailed as Aine's words sank in. "I think, Miss O'Meara has indeed found the only practicable solution to our dilemma. Lady Sarah, would you agree to participate?"
Matthew tried to intervene but his niece was quicker. "Of course I do." Seeing the way her jaw was set, Matthew sighed, knowing there would be no way to dissuade her from going. Harmon cast Clayton a worried glance but after a minute silently consented. Given the situation as it was, this would indeed turn out to be the best way to proceed. He only dreaded to involve Sarah in a situation like this.
"Don't make yourself uneasy, gentlemen," Father Chegwidden spoke up. "I promise to bring them back safely."
Matthew looked at his wife, at Bud, at Harriet - and finally shrugged as he found that they all agreed with Aine. "All right. The five of you shall ride tomorrow morning."
They had finished their fruit as a couple of musicians were led into the room, took a stand at the far side and started to play a merry reel.
"Oh, come on, let's dance and forget about politics for awhile!" Harriet eagerly got up and dragged her fiancé with her. Matthew and Mary just watched, smiling.
"Do you dance, Miss O'Meara?" Clayton heard himself say, utterly unable to explain where the idea had come from. He never danced although he had learnt it as part of a young nobleman's general education. Harmon's head snapped up and he stared incredulously at his friend, who was beginning to regret making the offer.
Aine radiantly beamed at Clayton. "I love dancing, sir. I'm honored by your offer and I gladly accept."
Harmon took a deep breath and, feeling unsure, turned to Sarah. "Might I claim this dance, milady?"
"I am sorry," she replied, looking down at her hands that were lying idly in her lap. Harmon's heart sank. He had offended her with his questions, he knew it. Sarah looked up again, longing and sadness shining in her eyes. "I would love to dance with you, Sir Harmon, but it wouldn't be proper. I am still mourning my late husband."
Normally this would have been sad news, but Harmon's relief that it hadn't been his fault made him smile. "May I suggest a little fresh air on the terrace then, milady?"
Sarah's face immediately lit up. "With pleasure."
Neither of the two noticed the smiles Matthew, Mary and Father Chegwidden exchanged behind their backs.
Outside, a starry sky was spreading over the castle. Harmon and Sarah were alone on the huge stone terrace that provided a spectacular view over the many curves of the river Barrow whose waters were reflecting the starlight. Standing side by side and silently enjoying the atmosphere, neither of them spoke a word. Only after quite some time Sarah addressed him quietly.
"When all this is over, what will you do, Sir Harmon?"
He let his gaze wander far off. "Right now I don't know. With the upcoming political developments there might be a major change of position in store for me. If I prove myself capable in the negotiations, that is."
"Do you really think people will be able to agree on a new sovereign for Leinster?" she asked thoughtfully, doubts shining in her voice. To her astonishment, his answer bore audible traces of a smile.
"Clayton and I might just have a little surprise weapon in our pockets," was all he said and she sensed that he wouldn't dwell on the subject any further.
"So, what do you do, once your mourning is over?" he asked after a while. He had meant to say it lightly, but failed.
"I don't know, either," she replied with a sigh. "I won't have much of a choice. I can either remarry or stay right here." He knew she was being realistic and the injustice of her situation hit him. He wanted her to be able to decide her fate entirely by herself. She deserved it.
"Why don't you do something different? You are an independent woman, Lady Sarah. Go and get to know the world," he encouraged her. Her bitter laugh hurt.
"It's easy for you to propose something of the kind, sir. You are a man. Although I feel up to the challenge I could never do it. Being a woman can be kind of a prison." She sighed. "Do you know how lucky you are, sir? You are free in your decisions. There is absolutely no one to tell you what to do except God and the king and your local sovereign."
She was wrong. She was wrong and he had to tell her, now. Looking down and locking his gaze with hers, he softly and intensely replied: "Until yesterday I would have agreed. But today I find that my situation will never be the same again. There is someone who can order me. Sarah," he swallowed, "My heart..." He put his right hand to the left side of his chest. "My voice..." With his fingertips he touched his lower lip. "And my mind..." He brought his fingertips to his temple. "Are yours to command." His right hand closed to a fist, he put it to his left shoulder and inclined his head in silent submission before her.
When he looked up again, he found her eyes brimming with tears. "Harmon," she softly answered, making his heart beat frantically at her informal use of his name, "My mind..." She gently put her fingertips to her temple. "My voice..." She softly touched her lower lip. "And my heart..." She laid her right hand on the left side of her chest, never breaking the eye contact. "Are yours to possess." She held her hand out to him, her palm turned up.
Harmon's hand was trembling when his fingers encircled hers. They stood frozen in their position for several long minutes, lost in each other's eyes. Finally, she gently pulled her hand away, offering him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
"Good night, Harmon."
"Good night, Sarah."
She turned and entered the hall, excused herself from society, claiming she needed some sleep before going on their secret mission in the morning, and went upstairs. Laying down on her bed, the image of Harmon was the last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep.
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!)