Bertrice Small - Besieged

She had felt his absence her entire life. How often when she stayed at her elder brother Henry's seat at Cadby had she sought out the portrait of Rowan Lindley that hung in the gallery of the house? Tall and big-boned, Rowan Lindley had a square jaw with a deep cleft in its center with a dimple. His hair was tawny and his eyes were golden in color. He carried himself with a faint arrogance, natural to a man whose family had held the same lands since before the time of the Norman conquest. Henry Lindley resembled his father in features, but India, a mix of both her parents, had his famous eyes. Fortune loved the portrait of Rowan Lindley. She drank it in each time she saw it as if she might gain something of her father.

She didn't look like him at all, or her mother either. There was nothing in her that she might say was him. She had her great-grandmother de Marisco's blue-green eyes, and her great-great-grandmother O'Malley's flaming red hair, they told her. Her grandmother Gordon always noted that Fortune was the duck in the swan's nest with her pale skin and wild pate. Fortune smiled to herself. She wondered what William Devers looked like, and if she wed him what their children would look like.

A light rain began to fall, and Fortune drew her cloak more tightly about her. She had heard it said that it rained easily in Ireland, yet the sun would be out the next minute. Looking up she saw the clouds scudding across the sky, yet here and there there were patches of blue. She laughed, deciding that she liked it. Then the sun burst forth, turning the morning bright and faintly warm. The ship moved more slowly now, its sails being trimmed as it glided toward its dockage. Usually ships anchored in the bay, but they would dock today because of the unusual amount of luggage belonging to Lady Fortune Lindley.

As the vessel skid into its berth, and the sailors leapt forth onto the dock to make the ship fast, Fortune saw a tall gentleman standing and watching. She wondered who he was. He was dressed very simply in dark breeches, a doeskin sleeveless doublet with staghorn buttons, a white linen shirt, and fine leather boots. His head was bare, and she noted his hair was almost as bright as her own. Well, Fortune thought, at least I won't stand out so much any longer if this fellow is about. The gentleman stood next to a large traveling coach to which were attached six fine chestnut horses. Fortune noted with pleasure that the coach horses were matched. Since the ship they had traveled upon belonged to her family, and the dock was privately held by them, she knew the coach belonged to them too.

"Why it's Rory Maguire! He has come to meet us. How absolutely wonderful!" Jasmine was by her daughter's side again. She waved quite enthusiastically. "Rory! Rory Maguire!"

He had seen her come to the rail to stand next to the young girl. She was older, yes, but still, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. He waved back at her.

The ship was finally made fast to the dock, and the gangway lowered. Jasmine hurried off the vessel, trailed by her family and servants. She held out her hands in a gesture of greeting to her estate manager. "Rory Maguire! How good of you to come and meet us! How it takes me back. Far too many years than I care to remember," she finished with a smile.

He took the elegantly gloved hands in his and kissed them both. "Cai mille failte, my lady Jasmine. A thousand welcomes back to Ireland, and yer family too." He released her hands from his gentle grip-

"This is my husband, James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, Rory," Jasmine said, drawing Jemmie forward.

The two men shook hands, each carefully sizing the other up as they did so. Apparently satisfied, they smiled, speaking a greeting.

"My wife has naught but good to say about ye, Maguire," the duke said. "I look forward to seeing the estate."

"Thank you, my lord," came the reply. "I think you'll be pleased. 'Tis a fair land, Maguire's Ford." Rory turned back to Jasmine. "I've brought the coach, of course, my lady, and there's horses to ride if you prefer. You'll be remembering Fergus Duffy, I'm certain. He's come along to drive the coach for us. As I recall yer servants prefer it to the back of a beast."

"Fergus Duffy, and how is your good wife, Bride?" Jasmine called up to the coachman with a smile. "My daughter is looking forward to meeting her godmother." The duchess drew her child forward. "This is Fortune, Rory. Fergus, this is the lady Fortune."

The coachman tipped his head in greeting.

Rory Maguire took Fortune's slender gloved hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. "I welcome you, my lady, and hope Maguire's Ford will please you so that you will want to remain."

Fortune looked directly into the blue eyes assessing her. She felt a sudden and odd sense of recognition, yet she had been but an infant when this man had seen her last. "I thank you, sir," she replied, puzzled as to the strange feelings she was now experiencing.

"I've a lovely little black mare with me you might enjoy," Rory said to Fortune, releasing her hand.

"I'd prefer that fine dappled gray gelding," Fortune said pointing, and quickly recovering from her earlier sensitivities.

"He's a wee bit unpredictable," the estate manager cautioned.

"So am I," Fortune-replied with a mischievous grin.

Rory Maguire laughed heartily. "Do you think you can handle him, my lady? I'll not have you being tossed about. 'Twould be a poor welcome home, I'm thinking."

"There's not a horse alive I can't handle," Fortune boasted.

Maguire looked to the duke and duchess, and when James Leslie nodded his approval, the Irishman said, "His name is Thunder, my lady. Come, and I'll give you a hand up."

"My baggage?" Fortune queried.

"We'll need several carts," Jasmine said. "Fortune brought all her possessions as she hopes to remain here in Ireland."

"We can hire them here in town," Rory replied. "I wasn't certain the lassie would be remaining or not."

"Is William Devers a bad catch then?" Fortune asked boldly.

Rory chuckled again. "Nay, my lady. He's considered quite the pick of the district. Tall and handsome, he is, with a fine estate up in Lisnaskea which will one day be his own. Not as big as Maguire's Ford, mind you, but more than respectable. There'll be a lot of disappointed lassies the day he picks a wife and marries, I'm thinking."

Fortune grew silent now. So William Devers was considered desirable by the ladies. He probably had a large head to go with his large estate. She walked across the dock to where the gray gelding stood stamping his feet with impatience. Taking the animal by his bridle she looked directly into his eyes, her other hand rubbing his velvety muzzle. "Well now, laddie, you're a handsome fellow. I do believe we'll get on just fine. Ready for a good long run? I surely am, but you must behave yourself until we get out of the town and onto the high road. Then we'll race the wind, you and I!"

Rory Maguire watched the girl speaking softly with the horse. He had felt a strange feeling when he had first looked upon her. It was as if he knew her, and yet that was not possible. He had not quite yet shaken off the sensation but he approved her actions with the animal. Cupping his hands together he helped her to mount Thunder. "Up you go, my lady." Only as he boosted her was he suddenly aware that the horse did not have a lady's saddle, but the girl mounted astride, obviously used to riding that way. He untied the animal from its hitching ring.

Thunder danced a bit as he accepted the new weight upon his back. He tossed his head to test her mettle, but she held him firm, her hands resting with seeming lightness upon the reins, her knees pressing against the horse's sides, warning him, guiding him. "Easy, laddie," she soothed him, and his ears pressed back, listening to the soft voice, new but a moment ago, now familiar. He quieted.