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

are, milady. There’s no reason for you to greet
MacCarthy’s man by leaping to your feet. I doubt he’s worthy of that honor.”
She clutched the edge of the table with one hand, her knuckles white with
strain. Her other hand lay atop the mound of her belly—which moved as he
watched. By the saints! Did the babe feel her tension? “Besides, it cannot be
good for a woman in your condition to be jumping about like a mountain goat,”
he added, hoping his poor jest might ease the tension that held her wound so
tightly.
    “You don’t understand, milord,” she said, her voice low, frantic.
Her eyes were fixed on the man standing below them.
    Ignoring the guards, he took a step closer, grinned and made a
mocking bow. “Is this the way you greet me when ′tis been so long since
last we met?”
    Who was he? Connor
shoved back the bench and stood, ready to vault over the table if the man
didn’t change his attitude soon.
    “And who might this be?” the man asked, all signs of humor gone
in an instant. “Don’t tell me you’ve replaced Brien—and Dermot—in your bed
already, sister dear.”

Chapter Eight

    “′Tis my brother, Aidan O’Neill.” Her body shaking, Lady
Moira braced her hands on the table and slowly levered herself to her feet. The
glare she sent her brother should have felled him where he stood, but his grin
widened in response. “Aidan, this is Lord Connor FitzClifford, my overlord’s
brother.”
    O’Neill moved forward, hand outstretched. Connor ignored the
overture and remained where he stood, lowering his own hand to rest on his
sword hilt. Henry and another guard came forward, their faces dark with anger,
grabbed O’Neill by the arms and tugged him back.
    Taking his time, to give himself a chance to cool his temper,
Connor made his way around the table, then stopped in front of it. The urge to
leap off the dais and grab O’Neill, to throttle him till his smug smile
disappeared, was strong—too strong. Lady Moira might not appreciate it if he
strangled her brother, despite the fool’s disrespect toward her.
    Instead he leaned back against the table, his hand still resting
on his sword. “′Tis your good fortune that you’re Lady Moira’s kin, else
I’d slay you here and now,” he growled. “I just might do so anyway.” He glanced
back at Lady Moira, weighing her response—not that he’d take the words back.
    She appeared stunned and weary, nearly swaying on her feet; he
doubted she had even noticed what he’d said. He’d guess the shock of her
brother’s arrival, coupled with what the lout had said to her—loudly enough for
everyone in the hall to hear—accounted for her reaction.
    Connor turned his back on O’Neill and rounded the table again.
“Milady, are you well?” he asked, taking her by the arm. The expression in her
pain-filled eyes struck him like a knife to the heart. “Sit, lady. Rest.” She
resisted his efforts to ease her down onto the bench. “Would you rather retire
to your solar or your chamber?” he asked quietly. “We need not continue this
discussion here. ′Tis no one’s business but your own.”
    She turned so they faced away from the others. “Thank you,
milord. The solar will be fine,” she whispered. “And I’ll go there on my own
two feet,” she added when he would have lifted her in his arms.
    He nodded. He understood how important it was for her to remain
in control, especially in light of her brother’s insults. Connor stepped away
from her as she turned toward the crowd watching them in near silence. “Henry,
please bring my brother to my solar,” she ordered. “And post a guard in the
corridor.”
    “Aye, milady.” Henry bowed, then motioned for the guards to carry
out her command. They tugged O’Neill around and urged him toward the wide path
that had opened up in the midst of the gathering, leading straight to the
stairs at the opposite end of the hall.
    Lady Moira drew in a deep breath and clapped her hands—not