Besieged

But then suddenly his eye returned to Aoife. The artist had painted her in what had once been to him a familiar pose-an impatient toss of her head. It was a gesture he hadn't seen in years… until today. Rory lifted the miniature from its case, brushing the thin layer of dust from it. He stared unbelievingly at the face staring back at him. It was Aoife's face, yet he had long ago forgotten it. It was also Fortune Lindley's face. But he had not until now recognized the two faces as identical, yet they were without any doubt one and the same.

Reaching out he grabbed the tumbler in his fist, and swallowed its remaining contents down in a single gulp. He felt as if he had been felled by a giant blow. How could it be? How could Lady Fortune Lindley and his sister, Aoife, have the same face? The same gesture? The same flaming red-gold hair that in all the family only he and Aoife possessed? Fool! The voice in his head mocked him. You know the answer to your own question. Did you not lie with Jasmine Lindley all those years ago? Fortune is your daughter.

He groaned as if he had been injured. His mind raced back twenty-one years ago. The marquess of Westleigh had been murdered. His wife had fallen into a fit from which she could not be aroused. She had cried out for her husband to love her but one more time. She was dying, or so Adali and the priest had claimed. They sent him to make love to the delirious woman in hopes she could be drawn back from the brink of death. While he had loved her secretly from the first moment he had seen her, he had known she would never love him.

Rory remembered he had been shocked by the suggestion made to him. Especially since the priest harried him every bit as much as Adali, who could be forgiven, being a foreigner. Still, he could not resist the opportunity they offered him to make love to her, even if she would never know that he had done so. They had not had to struggle too hard to convince him, he realized. And if she lived he would have the secret satisfaction of knowing he had saved her. If she died, he would die too. So he had done their bidding, and then slipped from her chamber back into the shadows of his loneliness. But Jasmine had survived, finally awakening the following morning. Discovering she was with child several weeks later, they had all rejoiced that her beloved Rowan Lindley, who had himself made love to his wife the night before he was killed, had given his darling this final gift of a third child.

But Fortune was not Rowan Lindley's daughter. She was Rory Maguire's daughter. Who else knew? Did Jasmine? No! She would not know because she never knew of his part in saving her life. Adali would know. His damned sharp eye would miss nothing. And Father Cullen? Aye, he probably knew too! And they had managed to keep it from him all these years. Had he not felt the need today to look upon his family's faces again he might have never known the truth. And now that he did, what was he to do with it? He pocketed Aoife's miniature before closing the box and setting it aside. His hand ran through his red hair in a gesture of despair. What was he going to do?

A serving girl entered his day room with a covered tray. 'Master Adali sent you some supper, my lord, since you did not come to the hall. He asks if you are well.' The girl set the tray down on a small table and lifted the linen cloth from it.

'Tell Adali I am not well, and would see him before he retires this night,' Rory Maguire said. 'And I would see Father Cullen too.' Then seeing the horrified look on the servant's face he laughed. 'Nay, lass, I am not dying. Just under the weather a bit. I need the priest's advice on another matter. Be discreet as you do my bidding, for I would cause no unnecessary disturbance.' He gave a wink.

The girl hurried out giggling, and Rory looked at the meal on the tray. Trout. Several slices of beef. Bread. Butter and cheese. A dish of new green peas. He ate out of habit, but he tasted nothing. Pouring himself more whiskey he drank it down. He was cold. So damned cold. He had a daughter. A beautiful daughter who was the image of his favorite sister. A daughter who would be absolutely horrified to learn she was not the posthumous child of the marquess of Westleigh. He sighed. For twenty-one years he had kept the secret of Jasmine's survival after Rowan Lindley's death. It had not been easy, but he had done it, putting Jasmine from his mind, although she had always remained in his heart.

It had been a burden, but he now had an even heavier burden upon his shoulders. The knowledge of Fortune's true parentage. How could he not have known her? But Aoife had been gone from him so long, she had faded from his memory. They had all faded. He had put the box with the miniatures in his attic because it had been too painful being reminded of happier times and the loving family he had once had, and then lost. He might have gone with them, but he had refused to be driven from Ulster. He remembered how his mother and sisters had wept as they departed Maguire's Ford. The memory of it pierced his heart even now, some twenty-five years later.

He had strongly disagreed with the northern earls who had deserted their homes, and their people; for more people had been forced to remain than had been able to go. He had thought the earls selfish. He remembered arguing with his father, whose loyalty to his cousin, Conor Maguire, was greater it seemed than to his own immediate family. Only his mother's intervention had kept the two men from coming to blows. In the end, of course, his father's will prevailed. The family left Ulster in the earls' wake, but Rory Maguire had remained to protect, as best he could, the people of Maguire's Ford. That he had been able to was nothing short of a miracle, but in doing so he was bereft of a family. He had never married because he had fallen in love with Jasmine, and no other woman would do. She, of course, had never known the depth of his affections. Now, suddenly, he had a family; but how could he ever claim his daughter without causing Fortune and her mother irreparable harm?

The serving girl returned to take his tray, saying, 'Both Master Adali and the priest will come, m'lord. Yer really all right, aren't you? Her ladyship asked that I inquire.'

'Just a small flux upon my belly, lass,' he told her with a smile. 'I should be right as rain by the morrow.'

'I'll tell her ladyship,' the girl said, picking up the tray and leaving him alone once again.

He was not alone for long, however. Both Adali and Cullen Butler entered the room one after the other.

'Yer ill,' the priest said. 'The servant girl told my cousin.'

'My illness is one of the soul, Cullen Butler,' Rory responded. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew the oval miniature, and handed it to the priest.

Cullen Butler looked at it casually. Then he asked, 'Where did you get this charming miniature of Fortune?' He handed the oval to Adali.

The majordomo looked at the small painting, saying quickly, 'This is not the Lady Fortune, good Father. She does not bear the princess's birthmark between her left nostril and her upper lip.' He looked directly at the Irishman. 'Who is it?'

'My younger sister, Aoife,' Rory Maguire replied.

'Of course,' Adali said quietly. 'The resemblance is utterly amazing, my lord Maguire. Both are beautiful women.'

'You knew?' Rory's tone was accusatory.

'I knew,' Adali said.

'And you, priest? Did you know also?' Rory's voice was hard.

'I knew,' Cullen Butler admitted, 'may God have mercy on me, on us all, Rory Maguire.'

'But she does not know?'

'How could she?' Adali answered him. 'She knew nothing of what transpired between you that night. Therefore she would not know the truth of her daughter's parentage. Nor would you have known but that you found that miniature of your sister.'

'How could you have kept this secret from me? How could you have not told me that I had a daughter?' Rory asked his two companions brokenly. His blue eyes were filled with pain, and