Briana

  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.