Lord Of Shadowhawk

Alyssa chewed on her lower lip. If she told Tray the truth, that her father and her brother, Dev, were a part of the rebellion, he might well send Sean to the coal mines to die. She had to continue the lie Sean had invented for them. “Yes.”

Tray clenched his fist. “Damn those hotheaded English soldiers,” he hissed blackly. He had heard that the English army under General Lake’s banner were killing, maiming and torturing thousands of helpless victims who had taken no part in Wolfe Tone’s poorly executed rebellion in Ireland. Tray looked up into her innocent features. “That ship doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. They’re taking on water at Colwyn Bay. I’ll send one of my servants to locate my half brother and we’ll see what can be done to free your father, Alyssa.”

His words took her aback. Did Tray’s power extend that far? Colin Kyle had taken part in the rebellion, and so had she. She clasped her sweaty hands together, fear racing through her. She was a prisoner who had been intended for Newgate Prison in London, to be hanged beside her father. Alyssa blanched with guilt. She had abused Tray’s generosity by lying to him. And now she was going to try to use his family connection to free her father. If she protested against his intervention too strongly, Tray would question her closely, and she didn’t want to risk Sean’s safety by blurting out the truth. Perhaps…perhaps Tray’s brother would be too busy to come to Shadowhawk. Then Tray would never know the truth, and both she and Sean would be safe. Oh, Mother Mary, why had she lied! Tray didn’t deserve her deceit.

“Now it’s your turn,” Tray said, breaking into her cartwheeling thoughts. “Tell me about yourself, your family. Are you seacoast Irish or inland born?”

Alyssa closed her eyes momentarily, trying to contain all her roiling emotions and fears. “My last name is Kyle,” she began, her voice low and unsteady, “and I was born in County Wexford, near the town of Wexford. My family farmed for a living until—until my father was unable to meet the taxes that the English placed upon us because we were Catholic.”

Tray grimaced. How many independent Irish had had their farms stolen from beneath them, their homes burned or destroyed, their families forced into a life of wandering impoverishment? He was familiar with the religious persecution. Catholic farmers were given only a twenty-one-year lease on their land, while Protestant farmers were given three lifetimes to keep and till their farms. Eventually the Catholic farmers had ended up as squatters, barely surviving in windowless, thatched hovels made of mud and straw, built on other people’s land. The Kyles were probably no different. “Brothers? Sisters?”

“Two older brothers. Devlin is four and twenty. Gavin is three and twenty.”

“And you were their spoiled baby sister?” he baited gently, smiling, thinking how pretty she must have been with her innocent green eyes, beautifully shaped mouth and freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.

Alyssa twisted the sheet between her fingers. “Loved, but not spoiled,” she countered.

“And your mother? You haven’t mentioned her.”

Alyssa grew still. “Mama died the first winter we were driven from our home. She had consumption, and Father didn’t have enough money to get a doctor to treat her.” She compressed her full lips and her hands stilled.

“I’m sorry,” Tray said, breaking the silence between them.

She gave a small, defeated shrug. “That was a long time ago.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Six. I don’t remember much about it. Gavin took care of me while Father and Dev hunted the countryside for food.”

Tray’s face mirrored her pain. “But when you were old enough, you took over the duties of caring for all of them?”

She nodded and then gave a small, forced laugh. “Even to this day I’m not a good seamstress. I can’t card wool properly…I can’t do much very well, if you want the truth.”

“That’s because your mother died before she could teach you those skills properly,” he countered quietly. “How old were you when you took over the household duties?”

“Nine, ten…I don’t really recall.”

Tray stared hard at Alyssa, fighting back the images that her young life brought to mind. Had the Kyle family dug holes in the ground and burrowed in them like animals to stay out of the wet, damp weather of winter, with nothing more than a few thin rags covering their starving, flea-bitten bodies? Had they eaten grubs and insects to stay alive, and chewed on the bark of trees during the cold months to keep from starving? His heart contracted as he stared at her unmarred face. She had gone through so much in her short life. And now, she had been a victim of the rebellion, once again caught, abused and brought to her knees by the damned English. His fists knotted until his knuckles turned white.

“You’re getting shadows beneath those lovely eyes of yours, little one. Why not sleep? It’s nearly five in the afternoon. You’ve done much for one day.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to reach your half brother before he sails?” Alyssa asked, praying that he could not.

Tray rose heavily to his feet. “I don’t know. All we can do is try. If that fails, I’ll send word to London for Vaughn to come back to Shadowhawk at his first opportunity. He has it within his power to do something for your father, but I can’t promise you anything definite right now.”

“By doing this much, my lord, you’ve helped.”

Tray felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth. He felt oddly buoyant as he left the bedchamber and walked down the hall toward his study.

* * *

The next four days brought a consistency to Alyssa’s life that she had not known in years. To her great relief, Tray’s half brother was unable to come to Shadowhawk before sailing, but he had promised to ride from London after the ship docked. Sean was safe for a while. Perhaps Lord Trayhern could be convinced to allow the boy to remain at Shadowhawk, despite their lies.

Alyssa moved restlessly in bed, mulling over that last thought. After the truth came out, would Lord Trayhern allow Sean to stay or keep his word and return them both to Ireland? She pushed herself up in bed, resting against the headboard, her face thoughtful. What of Dev and Gavin? Had they escaped the English soldiers and fled into the countryside? She drew her lower lip between her teeth, frowning. How she missed her brothers! And each time she thought of her fiery-tempered father in manacles and chains, she wanted to cry. The English would hang him at Newgate. Why couldn’t they just be allowed to live in peace? Why did the English have to tear their farm away from them? Losing their land had killed her mother. She could remember her mother saying that they had lost everything. Everything. That was what had killed her.

Alyssa ran her fingers through her long, heavy hair in an effort to tame it into some semblance of order about her shoulders. Tilting her head slightly, she heard a cock crowing strongly in the distance. It must be morning. Alyssa’s thoughts swung back to Lord Trayhern, as they often did in quiet moments. She had never realized that the English could be as kind as he was. She was bewildered by Tray’s care of her and Sean. Who would want a blind Irish girl who was useless to his household? And then a cold terror seeped through her sleep-ridden mind: she had heard of the lords taking mistresses. Reflexively, her fingers went to her cheek.

Lords, it was whispered, took only beautiful women as their mistresses. Alyssa’s fingers lingered on her rose-hued skin. Except for having occasionally seen her reflection in a quiet pool of water, she knew little of her appearance. No one had ever said she was beautiful. Dev often teased that she had turned down all marriage proposals because she was waiting for a rich Catholic Irishman to come along. That wasn’t true. She loathed the idea of being torn from her family; she loved her brothers and father too much to part from them. She would rather live in the embrace of the forests, trying to make a home for them in some burned-out thatched hut or whatever they found along the way, than live with a strange new family.

And then an excruciatingly painful thought came to Alyssa. No man would want her now. She was damaged goods. No self-respecting farmer would consider her for a wife. Alyssa bowed her head, feeling the hotness of tears that matched the burning anguish in her heart. Hadn’t her father impressed upon her time and again that a woman’s purity was the most valuable asset she could offer a man? A soft sob escaped from her lips. No one would ever want her now; she was blind, and no better than a common whore.

“Little one?”

Alyssa jerked her head to the left, toward Tray’s soft voice. Tears splattered across her cheeks and she clutched her hands protectively to her chest.

Tray quietly pulled a chair over and sat down, facing her. He had risen more than two hours earlier, working in the adjacent drawing room, which began to resemble his study more and more with each passing day. His gray gaze lingered on Alyssa’s flushed features and he saw anguish in her haunted expression.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he coaxed gently.

“N-nothing, my lord. Didn’t you know that all Irish weep easily? Remember, you told me it was all right to cry.”

A slight smile pulled at his well-shaped mouth. In the past four days, some of the natural tension between them had dissipated, and upon occasion, when Tray was able to get past her defenses, they could talk almost as if they were friends. He hoped this would be one of those times. At least she was no longer trying to hide her true feelings from him. He pulled a handkerchief from his trousers and leaned forward.

“Here,” he offered, placing the linen against her clenched hand.

An understanding silence stretched between them. Tray sat back, watching Alyssa dry her eyes. “People usually cry when they’re very happy or very sad,” he noted quietly, knowing there was little in her life that she could be happy about. “Are you crying because you miss Ireland?”

Alyssa knotted the handkerchief in her lap, her head bowed and face hidden by the natural barrier of her hair. “I awoke happy this morning, my lord. And then…then I began to think of the future.” She compressed her lips and closed her eyes, her voice low with strain. “I’m blind. I’m damaged goods. Of what use am I to anyone? No man will ever look at me as wifely material now.” She opened her slender fingers in a gesture of frustration. “What man who must work from dawn to dusk in the fields would want a helpless blind girl? He would need a strong woman at home to care for him.”

Tray’s mouth grew into a grim line. He had no defense against her, nor, he was discovering, did he want any. Alyssa was simply herself, without the training that society normally placed on women of his class. Her freshness and vitality made him feel more alive than he could ever recall.

“You’ve been here almost two weeks and I haven’t found you to be in the way,” he said, forcing a lightness to his voice he didn’t feel. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the negatives of her situation. “And Sorche was telling me that as you grow stronger, she’ll teach you how to card wool. She also felt that you could help in her kitchen, since you’re insisting upon walking around. So you see, you aren’t useless.” And then his voice deepened. “If I hadn’t already given my word to send you back to Ireland when you recovered, I would ask you and Sean to remain here at Shadowhawk.”

Alyssa’s lips parted and she turned toward him. Sweet Jesus, if she could only see! Then she could tell if Tray was lying to her or not. She could look into his eyes and know if he spoke the truth. She was getting more adept at listening and judging the quality of the voices around her. And if this method could be trusted, Lord Trayhern meant what he said. Then another thought occurred to her.

“As what?” she asked faintly.

“What do you mean?”

It took all her courage to blurt it out. “I’ve heard of lords taking a mistress. I—I don’t ever want to be touched by another Englishman. I don’t want to bring further shame on my family by being known as a mistress to an enemy of Ireland.”

Tray tried patiently to take her fervently spoken admission in stride. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That I would turn you into an unwilling mistress?”

Alyssa gave a small shrug. “I don’t know what to think of your attentions, my lord. In Ireland, the titled English ride into our villages, pointing out the young women they want, who are then dragged off to their manor or castle. When next we see them, if we see them at all, they are always dressed in finery, yet look so sad.”

Her voice trailed off and Alyssa crumpled the handkerchief between her hands. “Father always told me that love could exist between a man and his wife, and that there was no need for a mistress. He said my heart would tell me when I found a man I could love. But now it’s too late. I’m soiled, like those women who were dragged off, shamed and dishonored. I couldn’t bear to stay here at Shadowhawk. For any reason.”

Tray had to stop himself from reaching out and caressing her wine-colored hair. Her words cut like a sword through his heart. Did Alyssa realize that she had welcomed his embrace each nightfall when she was unconscious? He had savored those precious hours with Alyssa at his side, soothing away the dreams that plagued her sleeping hours. Regardless of how Alyssa felt, a large part of him wanted her to remain at Shadowhawk. And yet, Tray had to acknowledge her view of the situation. He kept his voice carefully neutral when he spoke.