L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep by Sharon Schulze Page B

closing his
eyes and savoring the silence of the bailey before braving the noisy revels.
    He didn’t intend to tarry there long. He’d told Lady Moira that
he’d return once he’d seen her brother settled for the night.
    What he’d say to her once he saw her again, he had no notion.
    He opened the door and let the sound pour over him. It should
have heartened him, but only served to underscore how tired he felt. He
lingered to speak with Will and assure himself that his orders had been carried
out, then mounted the stairs to Lady Moira’s solar again.

    Moira’s temper had cooled by the time she heard a knock at the
door, but she’d worked herself into a mass of nerves as the time crept by. What
if Connor believed Aidan’s plans had merit? What if he decided she and her
child were too much bother, and handed her over to her brothers? No one would
see anything odd about such a decision, for many a widow returned to her family
after her husband’s death.
    But she’d rather go anywhere—save to the MacCarthys—than return
to her brothers’ none-too-loving arms.
    In her heart, she could not believe that Connor FitzClifford
would do such a thing. But in her mind … In her thoughts, anything seemed
possible.
    When the knock sounded, she set aside the spindle she’d been
working in the fruitless hope of calming herself, rose and pressed her hands
against her gown to still their trembling, then crossed the room and pulled
open the door.
    He was alone, she noted with relief. At least she’d not have to
hear his decision for her future before witnesses.
    “Milord, come in.” She held the door wide, then closed it behind
him. “I trust my brother gave you no trouble?”
    His face revealed nothing of his thoughts, but she could tell
something weighed heavily on his mind. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said
absently.
    What did he mean by that? The words gave her no ease, since she
doubted there was much this man couldn’t handle.
    Something he would not wait till morning to discuss.
    “I know the hour is late,” he said as they stood in the middle of
the room. “And you must be exhausted. But I wished to speak with you now.”
    Because if he delayed, he
might lose his courage? she wondered as she met
his dark eyes and he glanced away. He looked as though he wished to be anywhere
but here, yet here he remained.
    Despite her curiosity, she wasn’t sure she wished to know what
could cause this mighty warrior to appear so uncertain. Yet waiting till the
morrow would serve no purpose save cause her a sleepless night.
    “Come, sit down, milord.” She gestured toward the chairs by the
table. “I can send Brigit for food. You had little opportunity to eat at
supper, and you must still be hungry.”
    “Food would be welcome. Will you join me?”
    “Aye, milord.” She went through the doorway to her chamber, where
Brigit sat by the fire, sewing. She sent the maid to fetch a tray of food and a
pitcher of warm spiced wine. Perhaps a cup or two of the wine might ease Lord
Connor’s discomfort.
    When she returned to the solar, she found him near the hearth,
sword belt in hand. “I hope you don’t mind.” He leaned the weapon against the
wall and knelt to build up the fire.
    “Not at all. Please, milord, relax and be comfortable. Brigit
will return with food and wine soon,” she said.
    While he tended the fire she replaced several guttering candles
in the stand by the table and removed the goblet and pitcher Aidan had used.
    If only she could make Aidan’s words disappear so easily!
    Lord Connor remained near the hearth, staring into the flames,
while she wandered to the small loom set up beneath the window. ′Twas too
dark here to try to weave, but she once again took up the spindle lying next to
it and spun a bit of thread. Surprisingly, she found the silence between them
pleasant, comfortable.
    Brigit returned, followed by Lord Connor’s squire, Padrig,
carefully balancing a loaded tray. “Set it on the