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

told her. “He’s come into my service
only recently, but already he’s proven himself a valiant assistant.”
    Color flooded Padrig’s pale cheeks at his master’s words, and he
turned his attention to offering her a linen towel to dry her hands. “Thank
you, Padrig,” she said. “I can see that you perform your duties well.”
    His flush darkened and he bowed his head. “I’ll do my best to
serve you, milady,” he said before turning away.
    “He’s a brave lad,” Lord Connor told her as he served her meat
and cheese from the platter before them. “You’d not know it to look at him now,
but ′twas not long ago that he lay near death with a lung fever. He
recovered quickly, and could not wait to get out of bed and to his lessons in
swordplay. He’ll make a fine warrior.”
    As the talk turned to courteous pleasantries, the level of sound
filling the hall rose once again. A motley group of musicians had assembled
near the hearth, their music lending a festive air. Moira tried to keep her
attention focused upon their lively songs and the activities of those seated in
the hall below them, but the man at her side proved a most formidable
distraction. All she could do was remind herself, again and again, that she’d
nothing to offer any man now.
    Nor would she put any man at risk through her actions.
    A guard in mail and helm made his way through the hall and
approached the high table, carrying silence in his wake. Even the music came to
a jangling stop. He halted at the foot of the dais, tugged off his helm and
bowed awkwardly to her. One of Lord Connor’s men, for she didn’t recognize him.
“Pardon, milady. Milord, there’s a messenger outside—”
    Lord Connor cut him off with a gesture and motioned for him to
join them on the dais. “There’s nothing wrong,” he called out in the near
silence. “Please, carry on with the revels.”
    “A messenger from where, Henry?” he asked once the man stood
beside him.
    Henry leaned close and whispered his reply, too quietly for Moira
to hear.
    Lord Connor frowned, then nodded. “Bring him in.” He cast a swift
glance at the gaiety once more surrounding them. “Let him see that we’re not
cowering in fear behind the walls.”
    Henry bowed to them again, turned smartly and hurried toward the
door.
    “Who is it, milord?” she asked as soon as he’d left.
    Connor picked up the goblet, raised it to his lips, then set the drink down untasted as he realized what he’d
done. “I should have asked your permission before giving the order, milady.
This is your home—it should be your decision who enters here,” he said. “I
apologize.”
    “′Tis nothing. I’m content to leave matters of our defense
to you, milord.” She picked up the wine ewer and topped off the goblet, sliding
it closer to him. “This does concern our defense, does it not?”
    “Aye, it does.” Should he wait, have her learn who had sent the man to them, or warn her now? In her condition, ′twould
be best if she were not overset by shock or surprise. “′Tis a messenger
from the MacCarthys.”
    He thought she grew pale, though it was difficult to tell in the
flickering torchlight. He’d been wise to tell her, to give her time to prepare
herself.
    The door from outside opened with a thud, heralding Henry’s
reappearance and silencing the revelry once again. The guard stood aside to
allow a tall, bearded stranger into the hall, followed by two more of Connor’s
men. One pulled the door closed while the others escorted the stranger toward
the dais.
    The messenger, his dark brown garb worn, his reddish-brown hair
and beard curling wildly around his face, strode through the crowd as though he
hadn’t a care in the world.
    He stopped before them, standing at his ease with the three
guards ranged behind him.
    Lady Moira gasped and tried to rise, but Connor remained seated
and held the bench firmly in place close to the table. He leaned toward her and
whispered, “Stay where you