The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(68)

“But they do not trust me,” he pointed out. “And what happens if Father Byrne and Diarmid decide to withdraw their support from your leadership? It could get ugly.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she said confidently, leaning in to kiss him as a reminder that she did, indeed, know what she was doing.

They were not lovers, whatever the rest of the household assumed. Near enough, but Stephen would not go that far while lying to her, and Ailis seemed happy to take her time with a man she liked. He didn’t press and neither did she. But that did not make their time alone any the less joyful. Ailis seemed capable of endless delight in discovering that not all men thought only of their own pleasure.

The only one in the household who didn’t seem to mind the change in Stephen’s status was Liadan—mostly because she hardly seemed to remark upon it. Maisie did, though, and Stephen would have bet that behind her careful face was a mind whirling through the possible complications. But he wasn’t worried about Maisie.

He was worried about Diarmid. Stephen didn’t pass entire nights in Ailis’s chamber—even she would not press Father Byrne’s principles so far—but she had long since removed any pretense of keeping him guarded. He spent his nights with the other men in an outbuilding, wishing he had a dagger to sleep with. How long before Diarmid’s patience snapped and he found himself at the end of an unfriendly blade?

He and Ailis did not spend all their time exploring their growing passion. They also made plans for Oliver Dane. And one month after Askeaton’s fortification with the hundred Spanish soldiers, they were ready to put those plans in motion.

The council summoned was a small one—only Ailis herself, Stephen, Father Byrne, Diarmid and his second-in-command, and Maisie. Stephen listened with admiration as Ailis laid out the deceptively simple operation. They knew that Dane, like all English landholders, was in constant need of money. Thanks to Maisie’s merchant connections and constant letter-writing, they knew precisely how bad that need currently was. So, from the shadows, the Kavanaughs had arranged a meeting for him with a banker in Limerick. Maisie possessed not only a copy of the banker’s seal—Stephen didn’t ask how she’d obtained it—but a surprising talent for forgery in imitating the man’s handwriting. The forged letter instructed Dane to travel with no more than four men, so as not to draw the attention of rebels.

“And we,” Ailis announced in her cool, decisive manner, “will be waiting near Tipperary with five times that number of men and sweep him off the road.”

“Killing?” Diarmid asked. Beneath his black mustache and beard, he seemed as pleased as he ever did. Which meant a small loosening of his tightly held mouth.

“No. At least, you can kill his men if they make it necessary. But Dane is to be taken alive—and brought here.”

“Why?” Again it was Diarmid who asked. Father Byrne shot a look at Ailis but did not otherwise intervene. It was her choice how much to tell.

She was ready. “It is time Oliver Dane was brought to answer for his crimes in Kilmallock twelve years ago.”

As her meaning sank in, the reaction around the table varied. Father Byrne studied his linked hands. Diarmid’s quiet second-in-command opened his mouth, then shut it firmly. To Stephen’s eye, Maisie looked inscrutable as always. He wondered if she had already guessed it. She seemed to have a store of unguessable knowledge.

“Dane is Liadan’s father.” Diarmid’s voice had lost all inflection.

Ailis lowered her head in acknowledgment. Diarmid rubbed his chin, clearly trying to control his immediate—probably violent—reaction.

At last he jerked his head, as though deliberately placing that information behind him. “Right, then. I’ll get the men ready. We should ride out tomorrow to make sure we’re in place near Tipperary well ahead of Dane.”

Ailis had one final command to issue. “Take Stephen with you.”

Stephen’s jaw dropped. So much for believing he knew everything in Ailis’s mind. How the hell was he supposed to get out of this? He could not possibly risk being seen by Oliver Dane.

Diarmid seemed nearly as shocked. “I don’t think so!”

“I’m not asking.”

“May I speak to you alone?” Diarmid ground out.

“No need. Everyone here can guess what you are going to say.”

Diarmid said it anyway. “He is English. No way in hell I’ll trust him with a weapon in my company. Nor do I trust him here without me. You must lock him up while my men and I are gone.”

“Absolutely not!” Ailis snapped.

Maisie’s voice was like a dash of cold water in the overheated room. “May I make a suggestion?”

Diarmid almost growled at the interruption, but Ailis kept visible hold of her temper and narrowed her eyes. “What?” she asked.

“I suggest allowing them to settle the matter as they’re both clearly dying to do—with violence. Controlled, naturally, in a fair fight.”

Once again Stephen’s jaw dropped. He shut it with an audible click as Diarmid laughed nastily. “Englishmen aren’t interested in fair fights.”

Stephen bared his teeth in a smile. “Afraid I can’t handle myself?”

“Afraid you’ll stick a blade in my back,” Diarmid spat back.