Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Rory Maguire returned to Erne Rock in the twilight. Behind him lights were already twinkling in the cottages and smoke rose from their stone chimneys. Beside him walked an enormous gray dog who was obviously as familiar with the territory he trod as was his tall, flame-haired master.

"Good evening, m'lord," the newly restored guard at the gate said pleasantly as man and beast passed him, crossing the drawbridge into the courtyard.

Rory Maguire nodded affably, and climbing the flight of steps that led into the castle itself, he headed for the Great Hall. There he found the Marquess and Marchioness of Westleigh, seated at the high board eating their supper. The servants stood attentively, watchful of the new owners' every need. The dog, moving away from his master, stretched its great length before one of the two fireplaces, and, with a sigh, closed his eyes in utter and rapt contentment.

"Come and join us," Rowan Lindley said, "though it seems strange to ask a man to sit at his own table, Maguire."

"This place belongs to Conor Maguire, my lord," was the reply.

"But held by your family for him for how many generations?" Rowan Lindley replied. "Do not fence with me, man. I am not stupid."

"Why did you not go with your kinsman?" Jasmine asked him as he seated himself at her right side.

"If it were your holding, m'lady, would you have deserted it, and its people?" he responded. "I can fight with the best of them, but I'm tired of fighting. I have done little else my whole life. When my cousin decided to leave Ireland it was because he, too, was sick and weary of the battles. His action will be seen by history as noble and magnificent. Mine will not be remembered at all. That will suit me well. I am no high and mighty nobleman, m'lord. I am a simple Maguire chieftain. If I must humble myself before you, then I will, if you will but let me remain with my land, and treat my people with kindness."

"But can you live with the unassailable fact that you no longer possess this land, Maguire?" Rowan Lindley asked him, leaning across Jasmine to make eye contact with the other man. "Can you accept my wife's rule, for that is what you must do if you would remain? I do not know if I could, were I in your place, Maguire." His gold eyes carefully scanned the Irishman's face for answers.

"Let me manage the estate for you, m'lord, m'lady," Rory Maguire asked them. "The people will listen to me and give no difficulty, I promise you. They are good folk, but change will come hard for them. Everything they knew is gone, and they must begin afresh."

"And if we say no, Maguire? What will you do then? I do not know if it is wise to allow the former lord of Erne Rock to remain. You could undermine my wife's and my authority here," the marquess said.

"If you would have me go, m'lord, then I will go," Rory Maguire told them quietly, "and I will instruct the people to give you their loyalty and their respect. They will obey me as long as you treat them fairly. 'Tis little to ask. We are not enemies, you and I. We are simply three people caught up in something not of our own making."

"I want him to stay," Jasmine said suddenly, and she put a beseeching hand on her husband's arm, looking into his face. "I know far better than you, Rowan, my love, the pain of exile. I will not send this man from here. But be warned, Rory Maguire," Jasmine told him, her gaze now moving from Rowan Lindley's to meet the Irishman's, "if you betray me in any manner, I, and not my husband, will seek you out and destroy you. I am a king's daughter, Rory Maguire. I have been taught when and how to be hard. Do not be misled into believing because I am a beautiful woman that I am not capable of being fierce. It would certainly be the biggest and the last mistake you ever made." Then her tone softened. "What is the dog's name? I've never seen one so big."

"Finn, m'lady. He is a wolfhound. I swear before God that I will never betray you," Rory Maguire answered her solemnly, thinking as he gave her his fealty that he did indeed believe her. Her magnificent turquoise-blue eyes had grown hard as flint as she spoke to him. A king's daughter, was she? What king? And what land? It would be interesting to learn more about this king's daughter with the O'Malley grandmother. "Ye'll not forget the priest, m'lady, will ye?" he asked.

"Nay, I'll not. Is the gatehouse habitable, Rory Maguire?" she demanded of him, and when he nodded, she said, "Then make it your own. That is where I want you to live. If there is anything within Erne Rock of particular sentimental value to you, you may take it. I had to leave so much behind," she mused softly.

It was settled, and so quickly, he thought, amazed. "What would ye have me do as my first duty to ye, m'lady?" he asked her.

"In the morning," she said gravely, "you will escort Master Feeny from my lands, Rory Maguire. I somehow think you will enjoy it," and her eyes twinkled.

"Yes, m'lady," he told her with equal seriousness, but his lips were twitching with suppressed amusement. 'Twould be a fine start to a new day to hustle the irritating little Belfast man from the place.

The encounter, however, proved to be far more unpleasant than he had anticipated. Feeny, after a night in the stables contemplating the abuse he believed himself subject to, was filled to the brim with vitriol. He did not hesitate to vent his anger at Rory Maguire.

"Think yer clever, Maguire, don't ye?" he snarled. "Think ye've got yer new English masters wrapped around yer finger with yer oily charm. Ye'd best toe the mark, or they'll turn on ye as quickly as they did on me. Then where will you be?"

"I find Lord and Lady Lindley pleasant and reasonable people," Rory Maguire responded stiffly. "Come on, Feeny, and get on yer pony."

Feeny clambered onto his mount and grinned nastily at the younger man. "Especially the woman, eh, Maguire? Well, ye'd best watch yer step there! She's trouble, I can tell ye. If it weren't for her, I'd still have my position. I know her kind. Uses a man, and takes all he has, then discards him. Look at her poor husband, enchanted with her he is, and doesn't see her evil, but I do."

"Begone!" Rory Maguire said impatiently, and smacked the rump of Eamon Feeny's pony. Feeny grabbed his reins tightly as the beast bolted off. "And don't let me catch ye on this plantation again, Feeny. Yer not welcome here!" Maguire watched with relief as the Belfast man disappeared down the road.

* * *

The summer passed while the mares that the Lindleys had brought to Ireland grew fat on the lush grass growing on the plantation and four of the six swelled with new life. Nighthawk was proving a good stud. Little India and her baby brother were sent for, and came with Adali, Rohana, and their wet nurses in attendance. India was soon toddling on fat little legs among the children of Maguire's Ford, while her brother rolled over in his cot for the first time and grinned, drooling, every time he spied his mother. Fergus Duffy was dispatched to the Bishop of Mid-Connaught, and returned several weeks later with Cullen Butler in tow.

Jasmine hugged her cousin warmly. "Grandmother said that Great-Uncle Michael would not let you leave him, but I did return you to Ireland so you might have your little stone church, cousin Cullen. Now you do! The people of Maguire's Ford have been eagerly awaiting you. There are over a dozen babies to be baptized, and at least two unions to be properly blessed. Isn't that so, Rory Maguire?"

"Aye, m'lady, it is."

"Cousin Cullen, this is Rory Maguire, the estate manager. My cousin, Cullen Butler, is the priest I told you I had in mind for Maguire's Ford. Father Cullen was my tutor in India."

The priest shook hands with Rory Maguire. "Lady Lindley," he said, "has told you of her childhood, I assume."

"Aye, Father, she has. I would have never imagined such a place as she describes existed. It sounds like a fairyland."

"India is certainly exotic, and exciting, but it is no fairyland, my son," the priest told him.

Afterward he asked Jasmine, "Just who is this Rory Maguire, my child? Where did you come upon him?"

"Actually the royal estate agent, Feeny, brought him to us. Feeny was such a fool, cousin Cullen. He did not realize that Rory Maguire was the lord of Erne Rock. Rowan and I quickly perceived it, for he is better spoken than most, and can speak the English. He asked to remain on this land, and we agreed. He is a good manager. His father, the former lord of Erne Rock, his mother, and a younger brother, along with his three sisters, their husbands, and families, left Ireland last year with Conor Maguire. Only Rory remained. Is that not sad, cousin Cullen? Why can the Irish not learn to get along with the English? One nation conquering another is nothing new."

Cullen Butler smiled at Jasmine's reasoning. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be Irish during all those years he had spent in India, but these last months at home had brought it all back to him. He despaired for the people of this green island. Religion now divided them, but even when it had not, there had been an antipathy between English and Irish seemingly too great to overcome. The Irish race was simply not one to easily, if ever, accept a conqueror. The Anglo-Norman peoples seemed to antagonize the Celts more than anyone else could. Although he had lived with it most of his life, even Cullen Butler did not understand why that was so. It simply was.

The priest settled comfortably in Maguire's Ford. He was finally doing what he loved best, ministering to the souls of his fellow man. The babies, some as old as four years, were quickly baptized, the two unions formally sealed, and just in time, he thought, for both of the brides were visibly great with child. He celebrated mass each morning and vespers each evening. Rowan and Jasmine rarely came, for the marquess was Church of England, and Jasmine—Cullen Butler smiled to himself—like her grandmother, trod an individual path toward God's door. He knew he should admonish her, but he did not.

Jasmine desired to remain in Ireland until her mares had been safely delivered of their colts. "At least until next year," she told her husband. "There is a magic to Ireland, and I like it."

"But the children are English," he said. "I want them raised in England. Ireland is never safe for very long."

"Do you think the hereditary earls will return, my love?"

He shook his head. "Nay. Not this time. The heart is gone out of them, as it would have gone out of me had I been in their position. The Irish population, however, will chafe beneath our rule; and sooner or later the matter of religion will rear its ugly head, Jasmine. Then there will be fighting again. I do not want you or the children here when that happens. The past history of this land is one of incredible cruelty on both sides when they war. It would be difficult to get to the sea and make an escape should fighting break out. For now I believe there will be peace, but in a few years …"

"India loves it here so," Jasmine noted.

Her husband laughed. "Aye, she does. She races about the village just like all the other little children, but she is not like them, Jasmine. She is Lady India Anne Lindley, the eldest child of the Marquess and Marchioness of Westleigh. She must learn her place."

"Rowan!" Jasmine didn't know whether to laugh or to scold him. "India is not even two yet. Surely there is time for her to ‘learn' her position."

"You were taught from birth to never forget that you were a king's daughter, Jasmine," he said quietly, reminding her.

Now she did laugh. "So I was," she agreed, "but this is such a different place, Rowan, that I thought perhaps I might raise our daughter more gently. Look how happy and healthy she is."

He smiled, but said, "She looks like a little urchin. No shoes, no napkin on her, and when she wants to pee, she lifts her skirts and squats with all the other little girls. 'Tis hardly dignified."

Jasmine giggled. "But it is far more healthy and practical than running about with a soggy napkin, Rowan."

"You are going to defend her, I can see," he said.

"Oh, my love, if she plays with the village children another year it matters not. Little ones are very adaptable, and she will readjust to life in England again just as easily as an apple falling from a tree."

Autumn came, and with it several mild and surprisingly sunny days. The Marquess and Marchioness of Westleigh rode out each afternoon with Rory Maguire to inspect their mares as they grazed contently in the meadows. The scene was bucolic: the villagers working in the nearby fields, the children playing, while in the background Lough Erne shimmered deep blue. The sight never failed to fill Jasmine with a sense of overwhelming contentment.

"Will there be enough grain for winter this year, Maguire," the marquess asked one afternoon as they walked their horses down the road, "or shall I send to market for more? I want no hunger among either the animals or the villagers."

" 'Tis been a very substantial harvest, m'lord. We can more than make do with our own grain," Rory assured him.

"Mama! Mama!" Little India came from the fields, her skirts flying, trailed by Bride Duffy's eldest girl, Sine, who was ten and had taken to watching over the child.

"Barefooted as usual," Rowan said, half laughing.

" 'Tis the custom in India to be barefooted except on formal occasions," Jasmine defended her daughter.

"Well, I cannot argue with that since I like the other Indian customs you've so kindly shown me, my love," he teased her, and Jasmine blushed becomingly, remembering the passionate night they had just spent.

India had finally reached them, and holding out her arms, she demanded, "Up! Up! Mama, up!"

Sine Duffy grasped the little girl about her waist and lifted her as high as she could as Jasmine bent, in her saddle, reaching out for her daughter. At that moment a shot rang out, and looking into Sine Duffy's face, Jasmine saw the young girl's eyes widen with horror even as her mouth made an almost silent O. Straightening, Jasmine turned. Her husband's mount was sidestepping nervously, its saddle empty. Rory Maguire was already dismounting, and Jasmine, her heart pounding, let her eyes slide to the ground where her husband lay, a bright crimson blossom of blood staining his doublet.

"Mama! Dia wants up!"

Jamal. His name slid unbidden into her consciousness even as she stared down at Rowan Lindley. This was not happening. It could not be happening. Why was her husband lying so still? Why did he not get up? "Rowan, my love!" Her voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance away. "Rowan!" Why was she screaming?

Rory Maguire knelt by the marquess's body. He leaned forward, as if listening for something. He felt for a pulse, but there was none. Jesu, he thought! Jesu!

"Rowan!"

Rory Maguire looked up into her beautiful face. "He's dead, m'lady," was all he could say to her, watching helplessly as she slid from her saddle.

"There!" Fergus Duffy came running, pointing to a man running through the brush on the slope. "Up on the hillside, Rory lad!"

Bride Duffy was immediately behind her husband. "I'll take care of her ladyship, Rory Maguire! Find the devil who did this!" She knelt by Jasmine's side, then looking up, said to her daughter, "Sine, take her little ladyship back to the castle and fetch Father Cullen. Quickly, lass, or I'll whip the flesh right off yer bottom!"

Rory Maguire quickly remounted his horse and with Fergus Duffy running ahead of him, he directed the beast up the hillside. It did not take either of the men long to spot the culprit, a small man running for all he was worth, ahead of them. Rory Maguire urged his horse ahead of Fergus Duffy, easily riding down his prey. Leaning from his horse, he grasped the man by the back of the collar and hauled him across his saddle. As he turned about, smacking the man none too gently on the head when he attempted to struggle, he heard Fergus Duffy call out to him, "I've his musket!"

When they reached the spot where Rowan Lindley had been murdered, Jasmine was regaining consciousness. For a moment confusion reigned in her eyes, but then a look of intense pain filled them. With Bride Duffy's aid she struggled to her feet, her gaze avoiding her husband's prone body.

"Here's yer murderer, m'lady," Rory Maguire said, yanking the man from his uncomfortable perch and flinging him at her feet.

"Stand up," Jasmine said to the man. "Stand up!" Her voice was stronger now.

The fellow struggled to his feet, glaring at her. "Ye must surely be a witch, woman, to have escaped my bullet."

"Feeny!" Jasmine and Rory Maguire said the name in unison.

"Aye, 'tis me," the little man answered them.

"Why did you kill my husband?" Jasmine asked him. She could feel her legs shaking beneath her skirts, and prayed that they would not give way beneath her. She needed her strength to deal with this.

"I did not intend to kill his lordship," Feeny replied. " 'Twas ye I sought to kill. Ye had no right dismissing me as yer agent. I've not had a day's good luck since ye did it. Yer a witch! Ye must be to have so enchanted a king into giving you a plantation this size; and yer husband who told me I must obey ye. Obey a woman? What nonsense!"

"Hang him," Jasmine said tonelessly.

"With pleasure, m'lady," Rory Maguire answered her.

Feeny stared at them, open-mouthed. "Ye've enchanted him, too, have ye? I must go to the authorities about this!"

"Now!" Jasmine spat the word.

"We have no rope, yer ladyship," Fergus Duffy ventured.

"Take my husband's belt, then," Jasmine said coldly, "but I want this creature dead. That he has lived any time beyond my Rowan's departure is a sin. Hang him from that tree over there."

Feeny, realizing that the village men who had gathered from the fields would obey their mistress, began to babble. "Ye can't hang me! I am a representative of the king's government! This is king's business! No! No! I am Eamon Feeny of Belfast town. No! No!"

A strong young man scrambled up the designated tree, the marquess's leather belt in his hand. Feeny was boosted into the saddle of Rowan Lindley's horse, his hands bound behind him with a strip of Bride Duffy's petticoat, and was then led beneath the tree. The belt was carefully fastened about the condemned man's neck, the long end returned to the man in the tree, who carefully drew it around a strong, thick limb, still holding it. Without a word Jasmine slapped her husband's horse upon its shining rump. The beast cantered off while the man in the tree, his arm straining, bore the burden of Eamon Feeny's swinging body.

Jasmine watched dispassionately as the Belfast man struggled, his face slowly turning from rose to red to blue. His tongue shot out of his mouth, and an unpleasant odor filled the air as his bowels emptied. Still she stood and watched, as if the murderer's own pain could ease hers, but it did not. The man in the tree looked nervously to Rory Maguire, who nodded. With a deft crack of his wrist upon the leather belt, the executioner snapped Feeny's neck, breaking it, and dropped the body into a heap upon the ground.

"It was too soon," said Jasmine bleakly, and then she collapsed, unconscious, onto the ground beneath the tree.

Rory Maguire and the villagers crossed themselves even as Fergus Duffy asked, "What do we do with the body, m'lord?"

"Bury it in the woods in an unmarked grave, Fergus. Let the grave be deep and impossible to find by either man or beast. I don't want her to ever see it, lest she remember."

"She'll remember," Bride Duffy said wisely. " 'Tis her husband, Rory lad, that's been murdered this day. She'll never forget, but yer wise to try to make her forget, poor lady." Bride Duffy's blue eyes filled with tears. "Poor, good lady to suffer so, and what's to become of the wee ones? Why, the lad will not even remember his father, and the lassie is so young too. She'll remember only because her mother teaches her to remember. Ahhhh! This is such a great tragedy!"

Cullen Butler came running up. His horrified gaze moved from Rowan Lindley's dead body, to his cousin, still unconscious, to Feeny, at the base of the tree, the belt wrapped tightly about his neck. "God almighty, and His blessed Mother have mercy on us all," he said, crossing himself. "What has happened, Rory Maguire?"

"Feeny, the former estate agent, shot the marquess, but it was actually her ladyship he meant to kill. Her ladyship ordered his execution. We, her loyal servants, obeyed her, and with great pleasure, I might add, Father. If ever a man deserved hanging, it was Feeny."

There was nothing Cullen Butler could say in response that would have suited the moment. Kneeling, he gave his cousin's husband absolution, for although Rowan had been born into the Anglican communion, Cullen could not allow Jasmine's husband to lie unshriven. He would have to bury him, too, for the nearest Church of Ireland cleric was in Enniskillen, too many miles away to be called. The priest next moved to Feeny, and made the sign of the cross over him, his lips moving in silent prayer.

"Don't waste yer prayers on that one, Father," Fergus Duffy growled.

Cullen Butler then looked to his cousin. She was still pale and unconscious. "Master Maguire," he said quietly, "could you please carry her ladyship to the castle? Her servants can attend to her better there. She has sustained a most severe shock this day, more than you can possibly know." Aye, Cullen Butler thought sadly. One husband murdered was bad enough, but two? He did not know if Jasmine would recover from such a tragedy. "Fergus Duffy. Are you brave enough to carry a message to England for me? To her ladyship's grandmother?"

"I am!" came the swift answer. Though he would have denied it with his dying breath, Fergus Duffy liked his English mistress well.

"Then come back with me to Erne Rock, and I will arrange it, but first see to his lordship's body. We cannot leave him lying out here in the fields. The crows are already gathering for carrion."

They did the priest's bidding. Jasmine was carried to her chambers, where Rohana and Toramalli, already apprised of the events that had transpired this afternoon, were waiting to attend her. Rowan Lindley's murdered body was brought to the church and lain upon the altar to await its coffin. Adali, ever his lady's right arm, kept everyone in perfect order, including the two English wet nurses, whose first instincts were toward hysteria.

"Calm yourselves," he told them. "There is no danger, and the children need you. If you become frightened, your milk will dry up and the babies starve. All will be well, I assure you."

Rohana and Toramalli undressed their mistress and bathed her now feverish body with cool, perfumed water. Tenderly, they laid her in her bed, and took turns watching over her. A day passed. And another. Jasmine remained unconscious, barely breathing, barely moving. Then, in the night between the second and third days, she began to cry softly in her delirium. The two serving women half listened at first, but when Jasmine repeated the same words over and over again, Toramalli sought out Adali.

"You must come," she told him. "She is speaking, and yet she remains unconscious to everything about her. We are afraid, Adali."

He followed her to Jasmine's bedchamber and stood over his mistress, looking down upon her, his heart aching. She was so pale, and for all her nineteen years, she looked so young and helpless.

"We have kept her clean, and comfortable, Adali," Rohana said. Both sisters had dark circles beneath their eyes, he noted. "Now she has begun to rave, and her words frighten us. Watch with us awhile. You will see, and you will hear also. We do not know what to do."

He sat by Jasmine's bedside with them, and just as he was about to nod off with his own exhaustion, Jasmine spoke.

"Rowan. Rowan! Love me! I cannot bear it that you leave me without loving me a final time." Her eyes were tightly shut.

Adali sat straight up. Had he heard her correctly? It could not possibly be. He must be more attentive to his mistress.

"Rowan. Rowan! Love me! I cannot bear it that you leave me without loving me a final time."

Adali stiffened with shock, his brown eyes meeting those of Rohana and Toramalli.

"There is more," Toramalli said softly. "But wait."

"I will follow you, my love," Jasmine said. "I will follow you into death rather than be without you. Oh Rowan, love me but a final time! I do not think I can live without you!"

And Adali watched horrified as tears slipped from between Jasmine's closed eyes and ran slowly down her pale cheeks. "How long has she been crying thusly?" he asked them.

"For several hours, Adali, and with each passing hour her life force grows weaker. What are we to do? She is willing herself into death. We speak to her, but she hears us not. We have reminded her of her children, but there is nothing for her but her husband," Toramalli said, her voice edged with deep concern.

"I must think," Adali said, his brow furrowing. When the thought first came to him, he pushed it away, shocked by his own notion; but Jasmine began to cry out again, and her desperation burned into his very soul. He arose, telling the two women, "I must find Father Cullen. Remain with our mistress. I will be back as quickly as possible."

On the previous day, when it was clear that Jasmine would not quickly recover from her shock, the priest had said the mass of burial over Lord Lindley, entombing his body in the stone vault beneath the church where were buried generations of the lords of Erne Rock Castle. Now, in the hours before the dawn, he knelt before the altar in the church praying for Rowan's soul. Hearing someone enter behind him, he arose and turned to face Adali.

"We must talk," the eunuch said to him.

"Come into my cottage," the priest directed. The two men entered the small house, settling themselves before the fire, which just barely glowed with still-alive embers. Cullen Butler placed some peat bricks upon the coals, and fanned them into a flame. The room began to warm. "Is it Jasmine?" he asked, knowing that of course it was.

"My mistress is dying, Father Cullen," Adali said quietly.

"You are certain?" the priest responded.

Adali nodded. "I am, but I think I can save her. Before I do, however, you must know what is involved. I cannot bear this burden by myself. It is far too great a responsibility for me to carry alone."

"I will shoulder my part of your load willingly," Cullen Butler replied. "Jasmine is my cousin, and I love her too. Tell me what it is you must do to save her from a premature death."

Adali began slowly to explain, repeating his mistress's words to the priest, then saying, "Her body must be physically satisfied so that her mind can release its hold upon Lord Lindley. If that happens, I believe she will regain consciousness again and we can prevent her demise. Her own sense of duty to her children, to the marquess's memory, to Maguire's Ford, and to Cadby will eventually overwhelm her grief."

"Are you proposing that a man be sent into her bed, Adali?" Cullen Butler asked him, shocked by the very thought.

"I am," the eunuch replied.

"It is unthinkable!" the priest cried.

"She will die unless we do it, and she may die anyway, but I will not give her to death willingly, without a battle, Father! I was nothing until my French father's blood gave me the opportunity to serve as her mother's eunuch. When Lady Gordon departed India, she placed Yasaman Kama Begum into my keeping, and I have never failed to do my duty toward my mistress. It was I who ferreted out Prince Salim's wicked intent toward the princess! It was I who kept her safe from him! She is the daughter I could never have! I will not let her die!" Adali declared with more passion than Cullen Butler had ever seen him exhibit in all the years that the two men had known each other. Adali had always gone about his duty with a calm, deliberate air. He had always been the voice of reason in an otherwise turbulent world. His great distress now was evidence of his fear.

"Why do you think such a thing would save her?" the priest asked, realizing that he was weakening in the matter.

"You lived in India long enough, Father, to learn the truth of how the mind can overcome the body. Remember the yogis on their bed of nails? The firewalkers whose feet were never burned? The holy men who could go for weeks without food or drink? And the snake charmers who could put away their fears for their own bodily safety while handling the deadly cobra snake? I think the same principle may apply here. If the princess's mind can be made to believe that her husband has come to her and made love to her a final time, I think she can recover. We cannot just stand by, Father, and allow her to die."

"I will pray by her bedside," Cullen Butler said.

"Your prayers will be certainly welcome, but whether by her bedside or in your church, what matter? And you have been praying for her already, haven't you? It has done no good, Father. God helps those who help themselves, and we may have the solution if we are but bold enough to execute it," Adali said. "Time grows short."

"Who?" the priest asked, realizing that he was giving in to the eunuch's persuasion, and wondering if God would forgive him this apparent denial of everything he had ever been taught and was trying to pass on to others. Still, he reasoned, if Adali were right …

"Rory Maguire," Adali told him. "He's already in love with the princess, although I doubt he has ever dared to admit it to himself. He is a young man of great honor and good sense. We may trust him."

"Will he do it, Adali?"

"I will persuade him," Adali replied.

"Let us go, then, and find him," the priest said. "This deed had best be done as quickly as possible, and before the dawn of another day. If Jasmine is growing weaker by the hour, she may not have much time left, in which case neither do we."

The two men hurried from the priest's cottage to the gate house where Rory Maguire had taken up residence. They knocked upon the door until they were finally admitted by the sleepy Irishman. Closing the door behind them they pushed their host into his day room, and when they were certain he was awake, they laid their plan before him.

Rory Maguire flushed, startled, by their explanation of the situation and their unorthodox method for resolving it. "I cannot!" he cried. "My God, Father, how can you even be party to such a suggestion?"

"If you do not do as we bid you," Adali said stonily, "and my mistress dies, you will have killed her. Her death will be upon your head, lord of Erne Rock Castle. Can you live with that? Can you live with the sight of her orphaned children each day?"

Rory Maguire groaned with despair.

"You love her, lord of Erne Rock," the eunuch relentlessly continued. "Only your honor has kept you from admitting it to yourself, but I am a man who sees into the heart. I see your love for her because I love her also. I will do what I must to save her, and you must too."

"What if she awakens and finds me with her, and not her husband?" Rory Maguire demanded. "She will cry rape, and I will have brought shame upon my family's good name. I did not remain in Ireland to do that, Adali. What will you do if that happens?"

"I will give her a mild sleeping potion before I let you enter her chamber. You will then make love to her and depart. If God is with us, then she will awaken tomorrow unknowing of what has transpired, but alive. We three will carry the burden of what we have done, but it will be an easy burden if my lady recovers her health, will it not?"

"And what of her serving women?" Rory Maguire asked.

"I will send them to their beds even before you come," was the answer. "The fewer people who know of the deed done, the better."

"Ye've said nothing, Father," Rory Maguire said. "Have ye no words for me in this matter?"

"You have my blessing," Cullen Butler told him softly.

The young man shook his head wonderingly. "Two more unlikely conspirators I've never seen," he told them. "Very well, I will do yer bidding, though I am ashamed of it. Still, I cannot live with the thought that my actions might have saved her should I refuse you."

"In half an hour's time," Adali told him, "Rohana and Toramalli will be in their own beds, and all will be in readiness for you. Do what you have to, and then return here."

The priest and the eunuch left the younger man.

"Your scheme is worthy of a cardinal," Cullen Butler told Adali as they parted company. Then he returned to his place before the altar of the little stone church that Jasmine had given him.

Adali hurried into the castle and up the stairs to his mistress's apartment. Within her bedchamber Rohana and Toramalli continued their watch. "How is she?" he asked them.

"Weaker," Toramalli replied, and Rohana wept.

"Go to your beds, and do not return until the morning is fully two hours old," he told them firmly. "I will keep watch over her."

Putting a comforting arm about her twin sister, Toramalli led her from their mistress's apartment and to their own chamber at the top of the house. She wondered what plan Adali had concocted to save their princess. There was no doubt in her mind that he would save her. That she and Rohana had not been invited to share in that plan could only mean that Adali did not want them to know of it. What would he do?

Rory Maguire left the gate house and walked slowly down to the lakeshore. Gritting his teeth, he plunged into the dark waters, ducking his red-gold head beneath to cleanse it. A man never entered a lady's bed without bathing. His mother had always told him that, and although there had been many times he had not obeyed her admonition, this time he would. Hurrying back to his quarters, he put on clean breeches and a clean shirt. He decided against wearing his boots, and then changed his mind. If he was seen by anyone barefooted within the castle in the early morning, gossip would ensue for certain.

His heart was beating more quickly than usual. He could hear it faintly within his ears. He hadn't allowed himself to think about what he was about to do. Yet now, walking up the staircase of the castle to her chambers, he must. The eunuch had said that he loved her, but that his honor had prevented him from admitting to himself. Had Adali been right? He sighed wearily. Aye. Adali had been.

From the first moment he had seen her, he had been lost. It wasn't just her beauty, which was certainly formidable. It had been her bold, nay, regal manner that had enchanted him. Irish women were hardly shy and retiring creatures, but this simple woman, he thought, would have taken a sword up to defend what was hers if she had had to do so. Her swift actions regarding her husband's murderer were worthy of a Celtic warrior. Then he remembered that it was women warriors who had once taught the men of Ireland how to fight. He knew nothing of this India from whence she had sprung; but she certainly exhibited her Irish ancestry.

The castle, to his relief, seemed deserted as he turned the handle on the door and stepped into the master chamber. Walking through the day room, he hesitated at the bedchamber door; finally, with a soft sigh, he entered. The place was gently lit with beeswax candles, and a good fire burned within the fireplace. Walking to the bed, he gazed down at Jasmine. God, she was so pale! She seemed hardly to breathe, and her closed eyelids were purple with her agony. This isn't right, he thought unhappily. Then Jasmine began to cry out as Adali had said she would.

"Rowan! Rowan! Love me but a final time! Ohh, how shall I live without you, my love? Please, love me!"

Rory Maguire felt his heart contract painfully within his chest. How could he let her die? Reaching out, he gently touched one of the crystal tears as it ran down her cheek. Wearily, he drew off his boots, his breeches, his shirt. He had never felt less like making love to a woman in his entire life. Then, to his shock, her eyes opened, and as he stood frozen with fear, she held out her arms to him.

"Rowan! You came back to me!"

Looking down at her, Rory Maguire realized that her wonderful turquoise eyes, though open, were totally unfocused. Jasmine could only see what she wanted to see, and he had become Rowan Lindley for her. He wasn't certain if he felt anger or shame at the revelation. Drawing back the coverlet, he stared at her exquisite nudity. The candles and the fire cast a golden glow over her body. Her breasts were probably the most beautiful he had ever seen on a woman.

The sightless eyes looked up at him, and she smiled seductively.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and fondled one of the cone-shaped orbs. She murmured with pleasure at his touch, her eyes closing once again. Kneeling by the bedside, he leaned over her and, finding her mouth, kissed her softly at first, then more passionately. Her lips parted beneath his, her tongue sought his out, teasing at him with little flickering jabs that sent fire into his loins, to his great mortification. It was wrong to want her under these circumstances. He wanted her to be aware that he loved her, that he desired her, that he wanted her to desire him. Not Rowan Lindley. Him. Rory Maguire!

"Come into bed, Rowan. I want to feel you against me," Jasmine whispered against his ear, her tongue poking teasingly into it.

He was overcome momentarily with a deep feeling of self-loathing, for his male member was suddenly as hard as iron and tingling with lust to possess her. Climbing into the bed, he gathered her into his arms, kissing her eyes, her mouth, her cheeks; his desire rising with every passing moment, for her response to his passion was incredible. He had never known a woman to react with such unfettered sensuality. He could feel her breasts beneath his chest swelling with her arousal, the nipples taut. Unable to restrain himself, he lowered his head and suckled hard upon one of the sentient little tips.

"Oh, Rowan!" she half sobbed, her fingers threading themselves through his unruly hair, arching herself against him as he transferred his attentions to the other nipple.

He was half sprawled across her, and gasped, startled as she reached down with her hands to capture his manhood and caress it fervently. She cupped and fondled his pouch, tickling it gently with the fingers of one hand while the other stroked his rod to the bursting point.

"I can wait no longer," she moaned. "Put yourself inside me, my love!"

He needed little encouragement, and mounted her. She squirmed seductively beneath him as he pinioned her between his thighs, reaching out to guide him into paradise. A groan escaped his lips as he sank into her passage. She was as hot as fire and as sweet as honey. Matching her rhythm to his, she met each thrust with enthusiasm. She surrounded him, enclosing and squeezing him with a magic he had never believed possible. He couldn't stop. He was never going to stop. He would ride her forever. He had never felt so strong or so sure of anything.

"Ohhh, Rowan!" she cried, piercing his heart with the reminder that he but played a part. "Ohhhh, my love! Yesss!"

He didn't want it to end! It couldn't end! Not yet! Dear God, not yet! But he could feel her spasms, strong and hard, demanding the final tribute of him, and unable to stop himself, he poured his love juices in fierce bursts of passion into her, pressing a burning kiss upon her lips as he did so. For what seemed a long few minutes he lay atop her, and then with reluctance he withdrew from her, slipping from the bed to look down at her. To his surprise, she was asleep, but there was faint color in her cheeks that had not been there before. Her despair and restlessness seemed to have left her. Rory Maguire drew the coverlet back over Jasmine.

He was drained. Not simply physically, but emotionally. If she survived, she could never know the part he had played in her recovery. As for his future, it was bleak. He was a simple Irish chieftain of virtually no importance, and no fit mate for a king's daughter. He lived on her goodwill, disenfranchised within his own native land. What future could there be for them? He knew the answer. There was none. Yet he would not leave her as long as she needed him, and he would not leave this land that had been in his family's trust for so many generations.

Rory Maguire drew his shirt, his breeches, and his boots back on. Through the windows, he could see the faint beginnings of the new day. Quietly he slipped from her chambers, and to his great surprise he found Finn awaiting him in the passageway outside her apartments. The big dog arose from the floor where he had been sleeping, and pushed a cold, wet nose into Rory's hand, as if comforting him. Together master and dog left the castle, unseen, and returned to the gate house.

Adali watched him go from the windows of Jasmine's bedchamber. Although the Irishman had been unaware of his presence, the eunuch had been in his mistress's chambers the entire time. It had been necessary in order to be certain that Rory Maguire performed as he had been requested to perform. Adali realized even better than his co-conspirator, Father Cullen, the deep sense of morality ingrained in Rory Maguire. While he admired and appreciated the young man's ethics, his first concern was for Jasmine. She would survive if he could make her survive.

Turning away from the window, Adali walked to the bed and looked down at his mistress. She seemed to be sleeping quite peacefully and deeply now. Her cheeks were faintly pink. He drew back the coverlet and lifted her tenderly from the bed, propping her on the settle by the fireplace. Quickly he remade the bed with fresh lavender-scented sheets, for the Irishman's love juices had been so profuse that her womb had overflowed with them. Adali then bathed Jasmine's female parts with a basin of perfumed water, erasing all traces of the lovemaking. If she remembered, she would think it but a dream. Dressing her in a clean nightgown, he placed her back in her bed, drawing the coverlet over her. Finally he burned the used sheets in her fireplace. Now there was no evidence at all of what had transpired in the room over the past hour. Adali smiled, satisfied. Both Akbar and Rugaiya Begum would have approved his actions. Their daughter would live. He drew up a chair and settled himself by her bedside to watch over her. Aye! She would live!