A Rose in Splendor by Laura Parker Page B

brother quibbles at the thought?”
    Darragh leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “What name have the dispatches from Italy been full of lately?”
    “Dillon!” Deirdre responded instantly.
    “Burke!” Lady Elva offered more slowly.
    “Do you read nothing but the generals’ names?” Darragh said disapprovingly. “There’s many a brave man whose memory goes wanting, if that’s true. Think again, what name keeps returning to the roster of battles won and honors received? He’s not a great noble such as Dillon or Burke. Some say he was spawned by the Devil himself. He certainly fights the like. ’Tis not for his piety that some men call him the Avenging Angel.”
    “MacShane!” Lord Fitzgerald rose so suddenly that he nearly overset his chair. “Ye’ve invited MacShane here? Without my permission?”
    Lady Elva was on her feet instantly, forcing her sons to rise with her. “My lord, please!” She turned to her stepsons. “What have you done? Who is this man? Och, never mind. You will simply withdraw the invitation.” She looked pleadingly at first one, then the other. “If he’s not due to arrive before the end of the week, there’s time to ride out and meet him. Offer him some excuse that will save him embarrassment. You’ll do that, will you not?”
    Darragh crossed his arms, his eyes hard on his father’s face. “’Twas time you told us, Da, why you hold MacShane in such disdain when the soldiers of the Wild Geese consider him the pride of the brigade. What is between you?”
    Lord Fitzgerald shook his head. “He’s nae welcome in me home. That’s an end to it.”
    “But why, Da?” Deirdre questioned, her curiosity piqued beyond containing. “Did this MacShane insult you?”
    A muscle twitched in Lord Fitzgerald’s lower jaw as he looked at his daughter. “This is no business of yers, lass. Go to yer room at once.”
    “Da!” Deirdre cried, stung by his reprimand.
    “Why do you not tell the lass the story you told Conall and me?” Darragh suggested.
    “Aye, I’d like to know why you would deny hospitality to a famous soldier, and an Irishman at that,” Deirdre declared.
    Lord Fitzgerald turned a savage look on his daughter. “Ye’d like to know, would ye? And who, I’m wondering, gave ye the right to question yer father?” He reached for his cane and waved it menacingly. “Go to yer room! Go at once, before I send ye back to the Ursulines!”
    Conall’s hand closed over Deirdre’s elbow. “Come, lass.”
    “Aye, go, Deirdre,” Lady Elva encouraged. “I will send Brigid to you with tea.”
    “Ye’ll do no such!” Lord Fitzgerald roared. “As for ye, lass,” he continued, pointing his cane at Deirdre, who stubbornly held her ground, “ye’ll leave my sight this minute or I shall damage more than yer pride!”
    Deirdre flinched at his barrage of words but she did not flee. “I will go, Da, but I think you’ve been entirely unfair!” With an accompanying swish of her skirts, she turned and marched from the room with Conall at her elbow.
    Lord Fitzgerald reseated himself when his son and daughter were gone and swallowed his glass of claret, struggling to control his temper. When he looked across at his wife’s white face he knew he had acted badly, but the name MacShane had startled him. He smiled reassuringly at her. “Ye’re much too lenient with the lass. She’s been so long among the arrogant French that she thinks she’s become one of them. A night without a meal will not damage her overly.”
    *
    Deirdre allowed Conall to steer her up the stairs but she was far from cowed. When they reached the second floor she came to a halt, all but tripping her brother. “Da’s never, ever threatened me before!” She turned to Conall and, blinking back tears of hurt, demanded, “Who is this MacShane?”
    Conall scowled and put a finger to his lips. After a brief glance back down the hallway, he beckoned her toward his room.
    The doors of his