BRIANA
Ruth Langan
Book 3 - The O'Neil Saga
A FAMILY DRIVEN BY DESTINY!
BRIANA O'NEIL
Regaled with tales of her brothers' adventures, Briana hoped to follow
in their footsteps and fight for the freedom of their homeland. But
while she'd dreamed of joining the fray, she'd never considered that
she herself would ever fall victim to an enemy's sword...
KEANE O'MARA...
When embittered Keane O'Mara found the wounded Briana, he
thought the fight for freedom had claimed another innocent, but her
remarkable recovery lit a spark of hope deep within him. And he
knew that with this woman by his side they would soon regain what
was rightfully theirs!
For Nicole Brooke Langan, the newest link in our chain of love
And for her big brother, Patrick, and her proud parents, Pat and Randi
And for Tom, who truly founded a dynasty
Prologue
Ireland 1653
"My lord O'Neil. You must come quickly." The servant paused in the
doorway of the private chambers of the lord and lady of Ballinarin.
She clutched the door and choked in several deep breaths before she
could find her voice to continue. "It's Briana."
At her obvious distress, Gavin O'Neil looked up in alarm. "What is it,
Adina?"
"She's been wounded, my lord."
"Wounded?" Gavin's wife, Moira, was already on her feet, clutching
a hand to her throat.
"Aye, mistress. At the hands of an English sword, I'm told." The
servant's eyes were round with fear. "A runner came ahead with the
news. Some lads from the village are carrying her across the fields."
Gavin was already strapping on his sword and striding across the
room. At the door he turned and exchanged a look with his wife
before taking his leave.
Moira raced after him, calling orders to the servant as she did. "We'll
need hot water, Adina. And clean linens. Tell Cook to prepare an
opiate for pain. And send someone to fetch my sons and their wives."
She had to run now to keep up with her husband's impatient steps.
There was a murderous look in his eyes as he tore open the massive
door leading to the courtyard. "If those English bastards have touched
one hair on her head, I'll kill every one myself." He had already pulled
himself onto the back of a waiting horse when he spotted the
procession of villagers walking slowly across the sloping lawns of
Ballinarin. At the front of the line was a muscular lad carrying the
motionless figure of his youngest child.
His heart nearly stopped.
"Dear God in heaven." He slid from the horse and crossed the
distance at a run.
Seeing the lord of the manor, the villagers paused in their march,
whipping the hats from their heads in respect.
"Ah. Briana. Briana." With a sob catching in his throat he took the
limp, bloody form from the lad's hands and gathered her against his
chest.
By the time Moira reached them, he was kneeling in the damp grass,
rocking his child the way he had when she was a wee babe.
Rory and his wife, AnnaClaire, came racing from theiK-rooms, with
their adopted son, Innis, leading the way. Behind them came Conor
and his wife, Emma. All came to a sudden halt at the sight that
greeted them.
"Who did this thing?" Gavin's voice was choked with tears, his face
filled with unbelievable anguish.
"That can wait, Gavin." Moira touched a hand to her daughter's
throat, then gave a sigh of relief. The heartbeat was strong and steady.
However much blood had been spilled—for the lass's gown was
soaked with it—the wounds were far from fatal. "We must get her
inside."
Gavin felt as if he'd taken a knife in his chest, making his breathing
labored and painful. Nothing in the world mattered to him as much as
his children. And this one, his youngest, his only daughter, his
beloved Briana, owned his heart as no other.
As tenderly as if she were still that tiny bundle he had first seen ten
and five years ago, he cradled her against his chest and made his way
inside the keep, with his wife and family and the parade of villagers
trailing somberly behind.
In the great hall the servants had gathered in silence.
"Adina." Moira's voice was stronger now, relieved that there was
work to be done. "You will help me tend Briana's wounds."
"Oh, aye, mistress." The smile returned to the servant's eyes, for fiery
little Briana was a favorite among all of them. Life was never dull, the
chores never mundane, when Briana was near.
"Come." Moira indicated the fur throw in front of the fire. "Lay her
here, Gavin, and I'll see to her shoulder, which seems to be the source
of that blood."
As she and the servant began to cut away the blood- soaked sleeve
and wash the wound, she said softly, "Despite appearances, it is but a
small wound."
Gavin watched in silence. Now that the first wrenching wave of fear
had swept away, a newer, stronger emotion was beginning to emerge.
He turned to the villagers, his blood hot for vengeance. "Now you
will tell me everything. Who did this thing?"
"A group of English soldiers, my lord." One tall lad answered for the
others. "They were coming out of the tavern."
"How many were there?" Gavin knew he fed the flames of anger,
allowing the hatred to grow before he knew the facts. But he couldn't
help himself. He had spent a lifetime hating the English soldiers who
moved in small bands across Ireland, defiling, not only the land, but
innocent women and children in their path.
"At least a score, my lord."
"So many?" Moira made a sound of surprise.
Gavin interrupted with a hiss of impatience. "Which way were they
headed?"
"The last I saw, they were heading toward the forest, my lord."
Moira looked up from her work. "But why did they attack our
daughter?"
The lad stared hard at the floor.
Gavin's voice was a growl of command. "Why did they single out
Briana, lad?"
"She..." He swallowed, and shot a glance at the others. "She attacked
them, my lord."
Gavin's brow furrowed. "Briana attacked them?"
The villagers nodded, dreading what was to come. Gavin O'Neil's
temper was a frightening thing to see. It was already there, growing
with each moment, darkening his eyes, flaring his nostrils.
"Are you saying the English did nothing to provoke the attack?"
The lad stared at his fingers as they played with the ragged edge of his
hat. "The English didn't even see her until she charged into their midst
with her sword aloft."
"Her sword?" Gavin spun around, glancing upward, seeing the empty
space over the mantel where his father's sword always hung. "What
did they do then, lad?"
Briana pushed aside the servant's hand and sat up, brushing
tumbled
red locks out of her eyes. Her voice, a husky mix of breathlessness
and energy, deepened her brogue. "They laughed at me."
Everyone turned to stare at her. But the only one she saw was her
father. His face, looking tight and angry. His eyes, staring at her with
a look of puzzlement. It wasn't the proud, joyful expression she'd
been anticipating.
Hoping to put the light of pride back in his eyes she hurried on in a
rush of words. "At first they managed to evade my blows. But when
the leader ordered me to throw down my weapon, and I refused, the
English dogs were forced to defend themselves."
"Aye, my lord. 'Tis true." The lad nodded. "One of them struck her
with the flat of his blade, knocking her from her horse. When she fell
to the ground, she seemed stunned, but she's a true O'Neil. She
managed to get up and attack again." There was admiration in his
tone. And a sense of awe, that one small female could take such
blows and keep her senses about her.
Briana O'Neil was a constant source of amazement among the
villagers, for, despite her life of luxury as daughter to the lord of
Ballinarin, she was a wild thing, always plowing headlong into
danger. There were those who said she was in a race with her warrior
brothers, to see who was the fiercest. There were others who said she
was merely trying to please a harsh, demanding father. Whatever
demon drove her, Briana O'Neil was surely the fiercest female in their
midst.
"That's when the leader pinned her with his sword, drawing blood. He
ordered his men to mount and ride.
And when they were safely away, he followed, my lord."
Gavin spoke to the lad, but kept his gaze fixed on his daughter. "Did
the soldier say anything?"
"Only that he had no desire to have the lass's blood on his hands."
Gavin's eyes had narrowed with each word until they were tiny slits.
Now he swung the full weight of his fury on his daughter. "You little
fool. Is it death you desire?"
"Nay, Father." She struggled to her feet, determined not to let him see
any weakness in her. "I desire the same as you."
"Do you now? And what might that be?"
"I've heard it since I was a wee lass." With her hands on her hips she
flounced closer. "Freedom from tyranny. And death to the bloody
English."
Gavin's voice rose, a sure sign that his tightly-held control was
slipping. "And you thought you'd see to it all by yourself, did you?
You're an even bigger fool than I thought. It's lucky you are that the
leader of that band had the sense to only wound you. He'd have been
within his rights to kill you."
Crushed by his words, Briana exerted no such control over her own
temper. With eyes blazing she shouted, "You call me a fool? If I had
been Rory or Conor, or even young Innis, you'd have had nothing but
praise for my courage. I've watched you, Father, sitting around the
fire at night, boasting of your sons' courage. But never once do you
recognize that I have the same blood flowing through my veins. The
same courage. And the same need for vengeance. Why can't you see
it? Why can't you see me?"
He caught her arm and pulled her close until his breath seared her
skin. His voice trembled with emotion. "Oh, I see you. And do you
know what I see? A foolish, headstrong lass who hasn't one shred of
sense in that empty little brain. Don't you understand that those
soldiers could have taken you with them for their sport?"
If he'd expected to shock or frighten her, he was mistaken.
"I wish they had tried." She tossed her head. "They'd have found my
knife planted in their black English hearts."
It was, for Gavin O'Neil, the final straw. He looked, for a full minute,
as though he might strike her. Instead he flung her from him and
looked toward his wife. "You were charged with teaching your
daughter the ways of a woman."
Moira stood a little straighter, aware that half the village was
witnessing this scene, and the other half would hear every word of it
repeated before nightfall. "And so I shall. But you must be patient,
Gavin."
"Patient? Patient?" He slammed a fist down on the mantel, sending
candles toppling.
Nervous servants hastened to upright them before they began to
smolder.
"I've been patient long enough." He pinned his wife with a look that
had long struck fear into seasoned warriors. Moira, knew that he had
now crossed the line from anger to full-blown rage. There would be
no stopping him until the storm had run its course. "Now I'll take
matters into my own hands."
Moira braced herself for what was to come. Beside her, her daughter
watched with wary eyes.
"This very day Briana will go to the Abbey of St. Claire.""A cloister?
Nay, Gavin. You can't mean this."
"You know me better than that, woman. I do mean it."
Her voice quavered. "I beg you, Gavin, don't do this thing."
"It is the only way to assure she will live to womanhood."
Briana's eyes had gone wide with shock and fear. "You wouldn't send
me away. I couldn't live without you and Mother. Without Rory and
Conor and Innis. I'd rather die, Father, than leave Ballinarin."
"You should have thought about that before you took up the ways of a
warrior. Now you must pay for your foolishness. In the convent,
you'll learn a woman's ways."
"A woman?" Her voice rang with scorn. "What care I about such
things?"
"You'll learn to care. A woman is what you are. What you cannot
deny. You'll learn how to pray and weave. How to be humble and
docile and respectful. In the silence of the cloister you'll learn how to
hold that tongue of yours. In the cloister you'll have time to
contemplate your foolish, impulsive behavior."
"I have no desire to learn a woman's ways."
"I care not what you desire. I care only what is good for you. If, after
a year, I receive a good report from the mother superior, I'll consider
allowing you to return to Ballinarin."
"A year. Gavin, consider what you're saying." Moira stepped closer to
her daughter, while fear began growing in the pit of her stomach. She
could see the darkness in his eyes; could hear it in his voice. This time
it was more than anger; it was desperation. This time he meant it. He
would do whatever it took to keep his beloved Briana safe. Even if it
meant breaking her spirit. And her heart. All their hearts. "They'll
dress her in coarse robes, and force her to sleep on the floor. And her
hair, Gavin. They'll cut it all off."
He couldn't bear to look at the mass of red tangles that spilled around
a deceptively angelic face. It had always secretly pleased him that his
only daughter had inherited his mother's lush, coppery hair.
Because they lacked conviction, his words were hurled like daggers.
"All the better. 'Twill be good for her humility."
Briana's eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back furiously.
She'd rather die than let the village lads see her cry.
Gavin
saw the way his daughter was struggling for control and turned
away abruptly. He had crossed a line. There would be no turning back
now. By evening, all in the surrounding villages would know that
Gavin O'Neil had banished his only daughter to the Abbey of St.
Claire, to turn her into a lady.
Because I love her, he told himself. Because I would do anything to
keep her safe. Even turn her out of her beloved home, and deny her
mother and me the pleasure of her company.
"I'll have a messenger ride ahead to the cloister. Pack her bags and bid
your daughter Godspeed, Moira. Briana leaves on the morrow."
Chapter One
The Abbey of St. Claire 1656
Briana." The voice of tall, stern Sister Immaculata came from just
outside the doorway. "You must wake, child."
"Not yet." The figure huddled deeper into the nest of coarse blankets,
wanting to return to her dream. It had been such a sweet dream. She'd
been riding her favorite steed across the lush green hills of Ballinarin,
in the shadow of towering Croagh Patrick. Her best friend, Innis, and
her brothers, Rory and Conor, had been with her, laughing and
teasing. She'd been free. Gloriously free of the odious rules that now
governed her life. Prayers before dawn, followed by a meal of
tasteless gruel, and then work in the fields until noon, when the
Angelus was prayed and they were allowed a meal of meat and
cheese before retiring to their cells to pray and rest. The afternoon
was the same. Endless work, followed by bread and soup, and then
evening vespers. Even sleep was regulated, broken at midnight and
again at three o'clock in the morning for common prayer in the
chapel.
Out of consideration for their age, the older nuns were given duties
inside the convent, scrubbing floors, washing linens, cleaning the
chapel. The younger ones, students and postulants alike, worked the
fields and tended the herds.
"Briana, you must get up now." The voice was beside her. A hand
touched her shoulder. That, in itself, had her coming fully awake, for
there was no touching allowed in the convent. There were no hugs.
No squeezing of hands. Even the brush of one shoulder by another
caused both parties to stiffen and turn away.