Up To No Good: Clan Hewit Trilogy, #3

By Mary Ann Carman

Escape is all Anora can think of - escape back to where she belongs—where her betrothed waits. What frightened Aunt Deidre so much to travel across Ireland?

 

Quinn fled the twelfth-century monastery. His agenda—to return his family's Irish fortress to its rightful owners. The work as a stable lad was perfect for gaining insight about the clan who stole his family's heritage years ago. But Anora caught his eye, and she's not the pampered maiden he thought she was.

 

When Quinn reads a missive Anora means to send to her betrothed - then meets the offensive Norman at his brother's secret lair, he fears for her safety. Will Quinn be able to protect Anora from herself and achieve his goal?

 

Up To No Good is the third and final segment of the Clan Hewit Trilogy. If you're lured to read about witchy fantasy, romantic suspense, and determined women with a mind of their own, you will love this series.

 

Buy Up To No Good today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Ann Carman
• Release date: Nov 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386821021

Mary Ann Carman

Mary Ann Carman is the author of ten mystery novels and she’s currently in the planning stage on two more, one of which will be a non-fiction author manual/text. She is also the CEO/Founder of SWPenSlinger; a copywriting firm that guides authors and small business in their marketing ventures. Her latest mystery, A Silver Coin, is fifth in her Love After Life series and will be available before Mid-November 2020. She has found mystery to be her super power, even while working as an RN, she researched the special issues her patients were facing. Mary Ann’s first book, Never to Love, won Honorable Mention in the Jada Romance Novel of the Year Promotion in 2004. Joyce Lavene, the author of over 75 novels, said this about Never to Love: It reminded me how good a historical romance could be - and I loved the paranormal elements!  Mary Ann loves the Tucson weather, cooking & baking, crocheting and knitting, and of course reading. Changing recipes or patterns is like revising your plot lines to fit the narrative you’re aiming for. You can also find Mary Ann on Facebook, Goodreads, and BookBub. Sign up for her email list today to get updates and information on new titles. You can follow her on: Facebook   https://www.facebook.com/maryanncarmanthemacteam Twitter   https://twitter.com/Mary_Ann_Carman Google+   https://plus.google.com/u/0/+MaryAnnCarmantheMACteam Instagram   https://www.instagram.com/mary_ann_carman_ Pinterest    https://www.pinterest.com/macarman6                                                                    At her website, http://www.maryanncarmanauthor.com  you will find information about her and her other books. You can sign up for her newsletter to get the latest information or join the “First Readers Club” for free books.

Book preview

Up to No Good

a My WordsWorth Publication

Copyright © 2015 Mary Ann Carman

revised 5.16.2016

Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you want to share it. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction, a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Cover photo courtesy of Shutterstock.com

Formatting and cover design by Debora Lewis arenapublishing.org

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Acknowledgments

I want to acknowledge my friends and family who drove me to complete my goal.

Without your help I wouldn't be where I am today.

My sons, Chad and Kenneth, the best of the best.

Lisa Magiary, my best friend, I strive to write so you'll have books to read.

Harvey Stanbrough, my first mentor and editor and friend.

Debora Lewis, my first reader and formatter.

My readers, without you I'd have no reason to continue.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Other Books in the Clan Hewit Trilogy

About the Author

This book is dedicated to anyone who has lost or been taken away from their home against their will. Feeling you don't know how you're going to make it through another day is a horrible way to live. Remember to keep your dreams alive – the end of your trouble is out there and it will be beautiful. Take it from someone who's been there..

There's something sleeping in my breast

That wakens only in the West;

There's something in the core of me

That needs the West to be set free.

Oliver St John Gogarty

Irish poet (1878 - 1957)

Chapter One

September 1172 – Whitstone Castle – Norman England

Disaster struck at home! The death of Lord Jon, Anora’s father. A death her mother refused to accept, a death that left a little girl alone in the world. Lady Charis, Anora’s mother, fled to a convent for her own safety. Anora couldn’t stay there, she was to live with her Uncle Faolán in Ireland. She was scared. She’d been told the Irish killed her father, Uncle Faolán and Aunt Deirdre were the only clan she had left. When Hugh de Lacy, a friend of her uncle, came to visit from his new estate in Ireland, he took Anora to her uncle’s home in Co. Meath. She called him Uncle Hugh after arriving in Ireland. Anora remembered thinking that day, she’d never see England again. When Uncle Faolán was killed last year, she mourned him, sobbing for days with her Aunt Deirdre. Will the pain of loss ever end?

October 1185 - Hathwood Castle – Co. Meath Ireland

Anora had gathered her belongings with the help of Treasa. The maid had been sent from the kitchens to assist the six year old upon her arrival, and Treasa had become a confidant over the past thirteen years.

Anora stopped momentarily to glance around the chamber, then moved to the arrow loop. The rich earthy scent of the River Boyne lingered in the air. Am I doing the right thing? I’m not sure this feels right. I’m scared. After all I only met Roger once though we’ve been betrothed since I was three. It’s been sixteen years since then. I know when we met again three years ago he seemed wonderful. Everything I’d ever dreamed of, but am I still dreaming?

Why do you stand there woolgathering, lass? Treasa shouted from across the chamber. The maid flipped a chemise in the air to shake out the wrinkles. Dust motes flew around, causing Anora to sneeze.

Sorry. Anora stopped her reverie to resume packing. She had a mere two trunks to hold all her hopes, and dreams... a saol, her life. At last she sat on the last trunk and watched Treasa, walking toward her. Treasa is a fine looking woman. She’ll have no trouble finding a companion after I’m wed.

Finally! Treasa breathed a deep sigh of relief. We’re done. She sat on the trunk next to Anora and pulled a hand across her brow. I wish I could come with you and will miss you all the more because you will be so far away. I know your betrothed does not approve of me. We are too close. Treasa scrunched her face up like she had just eaten a sour grape. Anora laughed.

I’ll work on changing his mind, then send for you. Anora smiled at Treasa then pulled her into a tight embrace and patted her back. I will miss you too, my friend.

Pushing away, Treasa swiped a hand across her wet cheeks. You best be getting some rest, lass. Your betrothed will be here late tomorrow een. You need to be ready for him. A sparkle of amusement lit Treasa’s eyes. Anora shoved at her friend’s shoulder.

She pointed toward the small table that held the pitcher of ale. Let’s have a cup together. It will help us sleep, though with the packing we’ve done, we shouldn’t need help. Aunt Deirdre brought that pitcher for us and we haven’t touched it. She’d be hurt if we didn’t try it.

Treasa stood and took on an air of titled arrogance. Shall I pour m’lady? she said with a flourish and both giggled.

Anora took a sip, shook her head, then sniffed and stared at the cup. This tastes different, bitter-sweet. It’s odd. She knew Treasa thought the same from the look on the maid’s face. It was made with Woody Nightshade.

Treasa shook her head while swallowing. M’lady did say ‘twas one of her latest batches, and she’d tried something new.

Ah, that must be it. Anora nodded, took another sip then set the cup back on the table. We’ll surly sleep well with this ale. What was Aunt Deirdre thinking? You’ll return in the morn?

Treasa set down her cup next to the pitcher. Aye, lass. I must direct the men when they remove these trunks. Then I’ll resume my kitchen duties. ‘Twas kind of m’lady to keep me on here after you leave.

Anora hugged Treasa again, then closed the oaken door. She leaned against it. Her gaze drifted across the chamber then to the bed. So tired. It didn’t take her long to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Anora felt a jab in her side, shoved herself upright and pushed the trunk away from her. The musty smell in the back of the old carriage nauseated her as she awoke. The carriage jerked its way down the rutted road. Terror raced through her mind until her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could see Treasa and Aunt Deirdre. Questions battled to the front of her mind. How did we get here? Where are we going and why?

October 1185 – Brawnlyn Keep – Co. Clare Ireland

Anora stood on the battlements with her heavy woolen bratt pulled tight around her shoulders against the cold of the bay gales. The strong wind whipped her hair and she clasped it in her hand. She stared across the shadowed bailey and could see her Uncle Cathal’s men move in and out of the stables. Beyond the curtain wall, she watched and listened to the waves crashing against the rocky banks below. Her eyes misted with tears that spilled on her cheeks like crystal droplets. Tears she would never show to anyone. Her insides shook from anger as much as from fright at the prospect of her future. What future?

Anora turned from the battlements and moved back to the doorway which led down to the second floor hallway and her chamber. Barefoot, the cold slate floor, even covered with the rushes, reminded her of a chill bubble surrounding her heart. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought to be on the other side of Ireland. She had called this country home, but now it separated her from her betrothed. They would have been wed today, if she’d still been at Hathwood. Does Roger even know where I am? How will he ever find me? She shivered at the thought. I’ll need to do the finding!

She tiptoed toward her door when her feet touched the wooden floor inside the hallway. Anora pulled her bratt tighter around her shoulders to halt the growing chill, which captured her when she descended the ladder. The seeds of a plan began to take root in her mind, a plan of escape.

* * *

Anora moved towards the hearth then sat to allow the warmth to flow through her and calm her. Relaxed, she opened her eyes. Staring at the flames, she could see images floating around. Soon the images became one and she could see Roger. It looks like he is at an Inn, drinking with friends. He is angry, throwing platters and cups. Perhaps not his friends after all, but where is he? The vision faded and she again sat alone. Where do these visions come from? How can I see pictures in the flames? Are they real or am I imagining them?

She left her chamber and stood at the top of the stairs looking down into the great hall. It was a cacophony of noise and activity. She shuddered at the thought of being forced to wed one of these men, Irish louts, unlike Roger. Anora descended the stairs and ducked as a cup flew past her head on her way to the dais where her Aunt Deirdre sat drinking with her Uncle Cathal. The man had taken them into his Keep without question.

Good evening, Aunt. Anora slid into a bench near her aunt, but her approach seemed to go unnoticed. The smell of leftover food on the trenchers did not entice her to eat. The churlish activities of the hall continued and Anora watched. A juggler tossed balls into the air as a minstrel played a snappy tune. Soldiers were grouped around serving maids, grasping at them.

Why did Aunt Deirdre bring me here? It’s a long ways from Co. Meath and Hathwood. Did she grow up here? I think not. She acts like she remembers, but sometimes it seems not as familiar to her.

In the carriage, Anora had listened to her aunt speak about her memories of Galway. But Brawnlyn Keep was in Clare, though not so distant. Aunt Deirdre spoke of the adventures, of midnight rides into the unknown. What would it be like for Aunt Dierdre to return to her real home after so many years? Aunt Deirdre pointed out scenery along the way as night turned to day, but never answered Anora’s pointed questions.

She had watched her aunt closely over the past year since Uncle Faolán’s death. Aunt Deirdre’s moods had begun to change as soon as she’d heard that his death was unnatural. Murder. Now she’s frightened of something. Does she think she’ll be murdered too? Not above the possibility. Is that why we left or for another reason? Has someone said something to her?

Anora gazed into her aunt’s mind, but the whirlwind of thoughts caused her to recoil and stop. I’ll go insane if I stay in her mind any longer. Why is this happening to me?

When Deirdre’s cousin Walter had come to take over the running of Hathwood, Anora noticed her aunt had relaxed more, even though she seemed to have increasing mood changes at odd times.

Without warning her aunt’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and Anora knew she was held tight. She couldn’t move let alone breathe. Anora has joined us, Cathal. But Uncle Cathal, seemed too much in his cups to notice.

Anora loved her Aunt Deirdre dearly, as she had Uncle Faolán, but she was worried about what this trip really meant. Aunt Deirdre hadn’t even discussed the trip before Anora had found herself trapped in the back of that old carriage. She knew the mead had been tampered with. Her aunt told her the trip was a birthday gift for her nineteenth year, but Anora knew better.

I need to get word to Roger. He’ll need some idea of where I am, and then he will know I’m safe. But how will I get the missive sent when I know no one here and where was the Inn I saw in my vision? Mayhap Treasa has some idea of how to accomplish this feat.

Anora watched as Treasa moved in close and leaned against Deirdre, causing her to quickly release Anora. The maid pushed forward across the table to place a fresh pitcher of ale in the center. When she turned, her gaze caught Anora’s. We must talk.

Anora nodded while looking around to be sure no one noticed the maid’s actions, then stood. Excuse me, Aunt. Deirdre was immersed in the other activities of the hall and paid no attention. Anora moved away from the dais. She paused on the stair and watched Treasa speak to another maid. When Treasa slipped into the kitchens, Anora resumed her climb to the second floor.

* * *

Walking cautiously through the hallway, Anora noticed the tapestries hanging there. Heavily chained sconces held burning tallows, which lit the hallway but created shadows. The golden threads flitted through the woven pictures like faeries of old. The thought intrigued her. I’ll study these in the morn, they look to have stories to tell.

Startled by a noise, Anora stepped back into an adjacent alcove. With trepidation, her pulse raced and she peeked her head around the corner. It was one of the maids leaving a chamber. The young girl giggled, her hand covered her mouth to stifle the noise as she closed the door and wandered down the hall. Anora leaned back against the cold stone wall, her eyes closed. She released a gasp of relief, not realizing she’d held her breath. This place is new to me. Every sound sets off alarms in my head.

When the maid was gone, Anora rushed across the hall, looked over her shoulder and opened the door. She moved inside to the fire to warm herself. It wasn’t winter but Brawnlyn Keep was close to the water, and the cold wind chilled her to the bone.

Pulling off her braided crois, she laid it on the floor beside her. The sheathed dagger that hung from it had been hidden in the folds of her gown. She touched the gems in the handle and the sheath then sighed. She prayed no one had noticed. Anora drug the bratt back over her shoulders and felt the warmth flow through her within moments. Anora waited, watching the red-gold flames leap high toward the flue.

She heard a soft rapping sound at the door and she startled. That’s not Treasa, she would have knocked and opened the door. When Anora rose to open the door, her Aunt Deirdre burst in.

Why did you leave the hall twice this evening? She scolded while strolling across the chamber as if it were her own. Her voice sounded sarcastic with a hint of menace.

Aunt Deirdre’s mood has changed again.

Moving toward the arrow loop, her aunt gazed out across the bailey bathed in golden torch light, her voice softened. Your uncle is very upset that you don’t appreciate his hospitality. She didn’t turn as she spoke, her finger tips lightly touched the edge of the opening.

My guess is he could care less. Anora rose and pulled off her woolen bratt. She draped it across the huge bed, then casually walked back toward the warmth of the fire. As she sat, her eyes lit on the dagger near the hearth. She hoped her aunt hadn’t seen it. She didn’t want her aunt to know how scared she was, or of her plans for escaping.

Deirdre swung back to face her with a fearsome look in her eyes. I am talking to you!

Anora stiffened at the agitated sound in her aunt’s voice. She straightened the skirts of her gown with trembling hands and attempted to cover the dagger. I needed a breath of fresh air, the hall is stifling. I went up to the battlements, but found it didn’t help. Instead, I returned to my chamber for the night to rest. Anora held her breath.

I did not think of how it would look when I left then returned for a short time before departing again. I do not want to draw any attention to myself. If I had my way, no one would have noticed me at all. Then when I escape, I would not be missed.

You will apologize to him on the morrow when we break our fast. He’s taken us in when we had nowhere else to turn. You will show him some respect! Strutting back across the chamber toward the door, she stopped short, and turned back around.

Another noise in the hall reminded Anora of Treasa’s imminent return. What would Aunt Deirdre do if she found Treasa in the hall?

Her aunt’s gaze swept down to the floor. What is it you have there? She pointed toward the hearth.

Anora scooted closer to the flames, but she knew her Aunt Deirdre had already seen the dagger. She shoved Anora away and scooped the dagger off the floor along with a handful of rushes. And just what were you thinking to do with this? Deirdre’s face had colored to an angry red. She shouted and shook the dagger, the jewels flashed in the fire light. She pulled it back to her chest and cradled it.

She never used to shout. What has happened to her in the past year since Uncle Faolán’s death? If Anora found the answer to that, mayhap she’d know why she’d been stolen away to this place.

It was my mother’s. It is the only thing I have left to remember her. I keep it for protection. Anora knew her voice was shaking as she stared up into her aunt’s face, but she couldn’t help it, or her trembling hands. Her aunt was a different person when she was in one of these moods. It scared Anora to think of what it might mean.

Deirdre seemed to soften. You don’t need anything for protection here in my brother’s Keep. No one here will harm you. Deirdre, caught in thought, looked out the arrow loop.

Her aunt looked as if she could kill something right now. Even now, though, her tone had calmed. She had a strange look lingering in her eyes, distant, unnerving. Anora felt a shiver run through her.

Well, I wasn’t sure. I’ve never traveled this far away from home. Unless you count my voyage across the channel after my father was killed, when you and Uncle Faolán took me in. I hope thoughts of her husband will ease her back to normal.

Anora wished her uncle were still alive. When he was, Aunt Deirdre had been kind and caring, not like now. But Uncle Faolán had been brutally murdered by her own people, the Normans. She’d been told when she was old enough. Now she was on the other side of Ireland, away from everything she’d ever known. Away from Roger.

She felt rage at the thought of it. She loved her Irish clan, even Uncle Faolán’s children from his first marriage had been kind to her. Deirdre never had children, a fact Anora always wondered about. But her uncle seemed to love her anyway.

Anora had been raised here in this country from six years of age. Why would the Norman’s murder my uncle? She knew more of these people than of the ones across the sea, but now they seemed like ruffians. All except Treasa.

Anora’s aunt turned and grasped the handle of the door then pulled it open. I’ll keep this so you don’t hurt yourself. She glanced up and down the hallway before slipping out the door.

Anora allowed the breath she’d held to escape. Treasa hadn’t been seen. Now how will I get my dagger back? I will also need a plan for that. Running her hands through her hair, Anora closed her eyes and forced herself to calm. Where is Treasa? Ah... there on the back stairs.

Making her way to the doorway, she opened the oak door slowly. It creaked. She stuck her head out and looked left and right looking for her maid. Who made the noise out here? The hallway was deserted, but she sensed someone besides her Aunt Deirdre had been there recently.

* * *

Treasa stepped out of the servant’s stairs just as Anora looked over her shoulder. Waving the maid forward, Anora watched as Treasa skittered, trying not to jiggle the contents of the tray she carried. Anora rushed the maid inside and closed the door behind her.

Anora stood with her back against the door and watched as Treasa took the tray to the small table and set it down before she turned to look up. Their eyes locked in common knowledge, the need for self-preservation in strange surroundings. Treasa looked about ready to burst with excitement. Moving forward, Anora grasped Treasa’s hand and led her to sit by the hearth.

Treasa’s breathing calmed and Anora whispered, What did you find? Her own breathing now coming in anxious spurts, Why did we need to speak? Anora watched as Treasa pulled a folded sheet of old parchment from the folds of her apron and handed it to her. The fire snapped and the maid’s vision slipped around the chamber.

What’s this? Anora asked as she opened the missive, careful not to tear the faded parchment. She spread it across the rushes on the floor between them. By the hearth light, she scanned the writing penned there. She was glad, now, that her Uncle Faolán insisted she learn to read and write. Anora had studied with his sons, though at the time the boys teased her constantly. Probably more so because she bested them daily.

A thought ran through her mind and she tried to dismiss it, but it wouldn’t leave. Why had they come here instead of going to one of the boy’s estates? They were much closer to Hathwood, but would they defend Deirdre? They weren’t her son’s after all, though she had raised them. Uncle Faolán’s first wife died leaving him with the boys. The boys never got along well with Aunt Deirdre. They felt that she was trying to take their mother’s place.

This is Uncle Faolán’s writing! Anora looked up to Treasa, but the maid continued to scan the chamber. What is she looking for?

Anora began to get nervous just as Treasa finally looked at her and nodded her ascent. Just as the priest had taught Anora to read, she had in turn taught her maid, it was a game with them. Then it was fun, and now it was proving to be useful as well.

Treasa nodded her head back to the parchment and Anora’s gaze followed suit as she read the missive quietly. He says here that the betrothal wasn’t his choice, but my father’s. She glanced up between words, she started to rise, but one look from Treasa and she continued to read from where she sat. That he, Uncle Faolán, would never have chosen Roger for me, but he was required, by the crown, to follow the dictates of the betrothal.

This is a request to halt the betrothal. Why didn’t Uncle Faolán approve? Was my father forced to make the betrothal? Is Roger not everything he seems?

Treasa stood and moved quietly around the chamber as Anora continued reading. She straightened the great soft furs on the bed, then moved to the trunk where Anora’s nightrail was laid out for her. She grasped Anora’s brush before returning to the hearth.

I can’t get through to see what’s disturbing her.

Treasa finally broke the silence. "I found this missive in m’lady’s private papers. I’ll replace