Lord Of The Isle
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“Those are their words, not mine, lady,” Hugh crooned softly into the woman’s ear, to calm her.
“On your feet, man!” Shamus Fitz dug his heels into his mount’s ribs, putting hard tension on the rope tied between his saddle and Kelly’s fat neck. Kelly struggled, choking, his wild eyes searching for Hugh.
“O’Neill! Tell your men to desist! O’Neill!”
Morgana of Kildare reacted. Her hand shot out to snatch her blade from the sheath at the O’Neill’s waist. He stayed her hand, gripping her fingers firmly, adding a command to desist. “Nay, lady. This is my land, and he’s my prisoner, now. Unless you want to join Kelly in the ranks of the unwelcome, obey me.”
“Damn you, O’Neill, tell these bastards to untie me!” Kelly shouted hoarsely. “You can’t hold me! I’m an officer in the queen’s army!”
Owen Roe returned Boru and stood fast, holding the charger’s bridle by the bit, awaiting Hugh’s next order. Hugh nodded to Kermit and Shamus Fitz. “Take him to Fort Tullaghoge. He’ll be tried one week hence. Guard him well, Shamus Fitz.”
“On what charges?” Kelly raged, loud enough to wake the dead as far away as Tara. “Nothing I did to that woman matters. She’s my prisoner. I’ve a warrant to take her back to Dublin.”
Morgana instantly refuted that charge. “That’s a lie!”
It was a good thing that Hugh’s hands were put to use staying Morgana of Kildare’s vengeful fingers, else this time he’d certainly have broken Kelly’s jaw. “Take him out of my sight.”
“Wait!” Kelly shouted again, struggling against the ropes that bound him. “I demand to know why you are doing this, O’Neill. I can bloody well have your head.”
“On the contrary, Kelly. It is clan O’Neill that will have your head.”
“I’m not under your benefice.”
“Are you not James Kelly, born at Tullaghoge in county Tyrone, bastard of Margaret Mary Kelly, scullery maid at Fort Tullaghoge lo these many years?”
“Aye, and well you know my father is Lord Litton. You can’t lay a hand on me, O’Neill. You haven’t a charge against me that will hold in any court in England.”
Hugh carefully lifted the woman onto Boru’s saddle, then mounted the steed behind her. He nodded to Owen Roe, and the boy handed him the reins. “Get you to your father’s horse, Owen, and return to Dungannon with him.”
Hugh turned Boru to face James Kelly. His dark eyes pierced the bully’s soul.
“This is Ulster, Kelly. You have forgotten that you are a son born to the land of Tyrone, subject of the late Conn the Lame, Shane the Proud after him, and now my uncle, Matthew, by whose authority I arrest you.
“As for my having to lay my hand upon you, I will not stoop so low as to touch you again. It is the judgment of Tir-Owen and Tir-Connail that you will face, at the next gathering. Witnesses will be called to testify against you, many who claim you murdered Shane O’Neill.”
“That’s a lie! I dare any Celtic bastard to face me and swear against me. I’ll have their bloody head if they do! I’m the law in this land now, O’Neill. Not you.”
“Oh?” Hugh O’Neill’s voice was deadly cold. “Then we shall play this game your way, Captain Kelly. By my own authority as Her Majesty the queen of England’s earl of Tyrone, I, too, am invested with the power of pit and gallows over all criminals who enter Ulster under false pretenses. In Her Majesty’s name, I arrest you and bind you over for trial in the nearest docket.”
Suddenly this argument between the two powerful men cut through Morgana’s shock at finding herself face-to-face with the O’Neill. She stared at Kelly, tasting revenge on her tongue, and through him found the means to ensure that the O’Neill would aid and protect her.
“He can’t have my head or intimidate me,” Morgana said. “Under both brehon and English law, I can testify against him. He confessed to the murder of Shane O’Neill, boasting to me that it was none other than he who took Shane the Proud’s head to Dublin and sold it. You’ve got your murderer, O’Neill.”
“You lying bitch!” Kelly lunged forward, only to be drawn up taut against the ropes restraining him. “A cage outside Dublin Castle is too good for you. I’ll transport you to England. You’ll be hanged, drawn and quartered, the same as all the cursed Fitzgeralds! O’Neill, listen to me. That woman is Morgan Fitzgerald, protege of Grace O’Malley, both wanted in London for piracy and high treason!”
As if he hadn’t been interrupted by either of them, Hugh continued, finishing his words. “And did you not want to be charged for the murder of Shane O’Neill, Kelly, you should have remained in England and never return again to Ireland. Take him from my sight.”
The last five words spoken by the O’Neill were the only ones Shamus Fitz was listening to hear. He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, and the rope to James Kelly’s throat stretched as his mount galloped to the bridge.
“Run or be dragged, Kelly!” Kermit Blackbeard hastened the traitor on his march by whalloping Kelly’s arse with the flat side of his sword.
Morgana sat stiffly on the charger, glaring after the departing men dragging their prisoner into the deep waters coursing over the flooded bridge. The rain beat down on her head, striking her face and stinging her eyes, making her squint to see into the dark night.
She wanted the satisfaction of watching Kelly drown, nearly as much as she wanted the satisfaction of killing him herself.
Hugh O’Neill waited in silence until Loghran and Donald the Fair joined him for the short ride to Castle O’Neill. He put no questions to the woman, though many came to mind. The hour was late and the woman exhausted. Her identity and status could be determined at another time.
Loghran and Donald rode at Hugh’s sides, which proved to be a good thing on the crossing. The Abhainn Mor had not calmed. Violent water surged high up Boru’s tall legs, lapping over the war-horse’s withers in the deepest portion of the flood. Hugh had all he could do to keep a firm hold on Morgana, whom he’d foolishly seated sidesaddle.