'ONCE UPON A TIME ON A GREEN, GREEN ISLAND'

Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@hotmail.com)

Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount; 
'Lord of the Dance' is property of  Michael Flatley and his company, no 
copyright infringement intended.

Rating: PG

Category: Romance (H/M), Adventure

Spoiler: Mac has very strange dream - but is she really dreaming? Just a 
little fairy-tale, utterly out of genre.

Author's note: This story came to my mind when I was driving across the 
green fields of Brandenburg (a federal state of Germany) on a rainy day, 
listening to Michael Flatley's 'Lord of the Dance'. I had lots of fun 
working it out - so I hope some of you may have equal fun reading it!

William Marshall is a historical person. The events described in this story, 
however, are fictional.

Many, many thanks to Sarah and Heather for beta-reading!
___________________________________________________________________________



0311 ZULU
Kennedy Center
Washington, D.C.



It was the ancient battle of all times, savior against destroyer, good 
against evil. Advancing, retreating, circling around, the man in white and 
the man in black fought their deadly duel, one trying to free, one trying to 
destroy the 'Spirit of the Dance', that lay under the threat of being 
extinguished. Always increasing in speed and vehemence, the opponents 
approached the climax of their fight, struggling to reach their victory 
until finally good triumphed. The servants of the light gathered around 
their lord, rejoicing in the dark side's defeat.


Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie sat and stared at the stage, 
subconsciously holding her breath, not noticing that her fingers were 
tightly clenched on her partner's arm. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr would have 
watched her in pure amusement, had she not applied an amount of strength 
that would painfully show itself on his arm afterwards. As thrilled as he 
was, watching this incredible show, he'd be glad when it would be over 
because he couldn't feel his right hand anymore. But Mac seemed absolutely 
swept away by the performance and she was so beautiful in her trance-like 
state that Harm couldn't bring himself to disturb her. Well, he'd regret 
that tomorrow, but right now he didn't really mind.

When the lights faded and the music died away Mac leant back in her seat, 
exhaled and closed her eyes. Then she suddenly became aware of where her 
hands were and her already rosy cheeks flushed even more. She loosened her 
grip, causing Harm to wince as his blood immediately returned to his numb 
hand.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harm." He could tell she was embarrassed. Flashing her a 
genuine flyboy-grin, he joined in the applause, the clapping soon making his 
hand come back to normal.

"No problem, Mac. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

"I really did. Thank you so much for inviting us to come here, Harm."

"Yes, thank you so much, sir... uhm... Harm," Lieutenant Bud Roberts joined 
in the conversation, beaming brightly. "It's been a great day, right, 
Harriet?" He smiled at his wife.

"Absolutely! Thank you so much, Harm!" Lieutenant Harriet Sims-Roberts 
impulsively hugged her superior officer, causing him to feel a little 
embarrassed.

"Hey, it's been my pleasure," he retorted. "It's my birthday and I wanted to 
do something really nice with the people closest to me. I'm only sorry the 
admiral and Sturgis couldn't come."

"I'm sure, the admiral would have liked the idea of getting all of us into 
such perfect lines and perfect synchrony as those tap-dancers," Mac said 
with a grin, clapping wildly as the dancers returned on stage and bowed. 
"But with you around that's impossible, flyboy."

Harm just flashed her a knowing grin and turned his eyes back in front.


Not wanting Harm to refrain from having a glass of wine on his birthday, Mac 
had volunteered to drive. She had parked her corvette in front of Harm's 
apartment, leaving him the keys and papers. They had picked up the Roberts' 
in Harm's SUV that she would drive home in after the show. In the morning, 
back at JAG, they'd exchange their cars again.

Having dropped the Roberts' off at their house, Mac drove Harm over to his 
place. Both were lost in their thoughts, barely exchanging a word until Mac 
stopped the car in front of his entrance.
"Thanks again for a magical evening, sailor." She smiled.

Harm suddenly felt unsure of himself. It was one thing riding across 
Afghanistan in a humvee with Mac and him in cammies. Being in mess dress, 
with her in a gorgeous evening dress right by his side, closed in the 
intimacy of a civilian car was something totally different, something he 
didn't often do and wasn't accustomed to.

"You're very welcome, Marine," he said, smiling back, unbuckling his 
seatbelt and opening the passenger's door. Before exiting he hesitated and 
turned to face her but didn't know what to say. The only thing he knew was 
that he didn't want her to leave but he'd rather bite his tongue than let 
that slip.

Mac, still on the emotional roller-coaster ride caused by the show, didn't 
really consider her actions as she quickly leaned in and brushed a 
feather-light kiss to his lips.

"Happy birthday, Harm."

His dumbfounded expression made her chuckle. At the sound he started, 
swallowed and gave her a puzzled smile, turning to exit the car.

"Thanks for coming, Sarah." He closed the door, waved a shy greeting through 
the windscreen and watched as she drove off. Thoroughly shaken by her 
unexpected display of feelings he slowly ascended the steps to his 
apartment.



0522 ZULU
Mac's apartment
Georgetown, D.C.



'I can't believe I did that!' she kept scolding herself again and again, 
blushing at the very thought of their kiss, her knees still slightly 
unsteady. Why did she always have to do something foolish, every time their 
friendship was back on track after the painful experiences of the last few 
years? They'd begun to relax around each other after his return from flying 
- and she'd had to start that fateful conversation on the ferry. They'd 
started to come just a little closer again after Mic had come to the States, 
being out on missions together - and she'd moved the ring. They'd finally 
spoken from the heart on the admiral's porch, kissing each other, and it had 
made her feel something she'd never experienced with any other man - and 
she'd said that they were getting too good at saying goodbye. He'd wanted to 
talk to her after his crash - and she'd fled to the Guadalcanal.

Now they were comfortable around each other, finally having restored their 
wonderful friendship - and all she could do was kiss him and make him 
retreat into his shell. If she could only stop herself from being foolish 
for once! Maybe Harm even loved her, but his behavior made it clear that he 
didn't want to be with her. She absolutely had to refrain from making him 
feel uneasy or she would lose his trust and their close friendship, and that 
would be the end of the world.

Frustrated, Mac got up and put a CD into her player. Maybe the wonderful 
music that had swept her away from her problems earlier could do the job 
again. She switched off the lights and stretched out on her bed, letting 
reel and hornpipe, harp and fiddle finally take her to dreamland.



A.D. 1302
The O'Hara Castle
Leinster, Ireland



The O'Hara's had always been a well-renowned family. For generations, even 
before the English nobility had taken over all of Ireland, the O'Hara's had 
been known for their culture and diplomacy. They had always been authorities 
of counsel and intermediation, respected and valued by English occupants as 
well as by the Irish natives. It was this unstained reputation and 
impartiality that had earned the O'Hara's the title of baron, one of the 
very few Irish families to be held at the same stature as the lower English 
nobility. It had been William Marshall, Lord of Leinster, the great 
counselor of King John and regent for minor King Henry III himself, who had 
rewarded Patrick O'Hara with the baron's title back in 1205, and the family 
had honored it ever since, although even a century later, they were still 
not fully accepted as noblemen. They were Irish. And that was a 
contradiction to nobility.

Baron Matthew O'Hara stood at a window of his castle's great dining hall, 
looking down on the River Barrow, lost in his thoughts. Those were times of 
trouble and he was preoccupied for his family as well as his peasants. Just 
like a hundred years ago, the barons were causing an uproar again, revolting 
against the lords' sovereignty. Back then it had been William Marshall who 
had resolved the conflict with supreme diplomatic expertise, counseled to a 
great extent by Matthew's great-great-great-great grandfather Patrick. The 
people of Leinster had been given the opportunity to live in peace and not 
worry about anything else than filling their barns and stores to grant a 
comfortable life for everyone. But now, everything was different.

Two years ago the problems had started. A young baron named Clark Palmer had 
found his hero in the person of William Wallace, called Braveheart, who was 
right now fighting for the rights of his people in Scotland. But unlike 
Wallace, Palmer's ambitions were all personal. He and his wife Lauren were 
craving to increase their influence, enlarge their lands and fortunes. And 
promising the barons a fair share of the prey, they had succeeded in 
assembling a powerful army of knights, conquering ever larger pieces of 
Leinster's land. Henry, the rightful Lord of Leinster, had been unable to 
stop them, and England was too far away. Two knights had been sent back to 
the royal court, carrying a plea for assistance, but still no answer had 
reached the Green Isle. So Matthew had not been able to do anything when the 
barons had joined against Henry, assaulted the lord's castle of Kilkenny and 
massacred his family. The Marshalls were no more.

To Palmer's astonishment his troops had encountered severe resistance after 
he had declared himself the new Lord of Leinster. The people, in a last 
ditch effort, were trying to save their country from a tyrant. But slowly, 
very slowly, Lord Clark's soldiers were making progress, mercilessly 
approaching the last shelter of order and rights that was to be found 
anywhere near: the castle and lands of Baron Matthew O'Hara, who had 
refused, pointblank, to join the rebels.

"What is it, uncle?" Matthew heard a warm voice from behind him. He turned, 
a smile spreading over his face. Even being a grown-up woman now, a widow, 
aged 35 years, his niece still held his heart captive like she had when she 
had been a little girl and he had come to pay a visit to his sister, her 
mother, in Scotland.

Lady Sarah Mackenzie was not very much like Lady Deanne O'Hara had been. She 
was tall and slender, her long dark hair always tied up rather thoroughly 
without much decoration. Lady Sarah was beautiful and womanly in her 
features, but her character had a decisively male edge. Sarah was practical 
and decent in her choice of dress. She didn't consider it inappropriate to 
pick something up from the floor when she had let it drop, or to wipe 
something clean herself instead of waiting a long time to have it done by a 
servant when there was too much work to be done in the rest of the house.

Sarah had grown tough because of her life, having gone through one hell of a 
marriage with an abusive husband two times her age. Her mother had died 
shortly after Sarah had been born and her father, Lord Joseph Mackenzie, had 
married her to the first lucrative candidate. At fifteen years Sarah 
Mackenzie had become Lady Sarah Ragle. She had had three children but all of 
them had died in childbed. A year ago, Lord Christopher had been killed 
fighting at William Wallace's side and as Lord Joseph hadn't wanted to take 
Sarah back into his house, she had decided to join her mother's family in 
Ireland. She wasn't quite accepted in society, as for the English nobility 
she was an O'Hara and for the Irish people she was Scottish. But Sarah 
didn't really mind. She was long past the anger of not fitting in - in 
Scotland she had always been considered Irish.

Sarah had loved Ireland from the moment she had arrived. The scenery was so 
much softer and gentler than in Scotland and her mother's family was the 
most welcoming people she had ever come to know. She had seen her uncle a 
few times in Scotland, knowing him to be honest, honorable and kind. His 
wife Mary had turned out just the same, adding a becoming amount of 
mischievous humor that she had obviously passed on to her two daughters, 
Harriet and little Chloe.

In Harriet, Sarah had found the first true friend she had ever had in her 
life. The slightly younger lively blonde soon ceased to be her cousin and 
became the sister Sarah had never had. And fourteen-year old Chloe adored 
and admired Sarah from the bottom of her heart. Sarah would have broken 
entirely with her past in Scotland, had it not been for her name and the one 
person who'd accompanied her all the way to Ireland: Father Chegwidden who 
had baptized and married her and who considered Sarah the daughter he wasn't 
allowed to have.

"What is it? Tell me," Sarah again gently urged her uncle to speak. She was 
a very accomplished woman and had sharp wits, combined with thorough 
knowledge of the world. These qualities made her an agreeable individual to 
converse with - at least to Matthew who didn't share the public opinion that 
women weren't supposed to be educated, unless one referred to singing and 
playing the harp.

He sighed, turning to his niece. "We still don't have word from the king, my 
dear."

Sarah was getting worried about the current situation, but seeing her uncle 
bear the weight of concern for all his dependents, she tried to sound 
reassuring. "I'm sure he won't forget us, uncle."

"Let us just hope help arrives before Palmer does."

Sarah sighed her consent and looked out of the window, down on the narrow 
road that wound parallel to the Barrow's shore. A few moments later she 
gasped and only pointed her index finger to where she had been looking: two 
knights came riding towards the castle, one of them bearing the royal 
banner.

Hurried activities set in the moment Matthew gave orders to prepare to 
receive them properly. Sarah smoothed the black dress she was still bound to 
wear and stepped behind Mary, Harriet and Chloe as the family gathered 
behind Baron Matthew, ready to greet King Edward's delegates.

A short time later the herald announced the unexpected visitors to the 
O'Hara's: "Bringing word of King Edward, let us welcome two noblemen, 
knights of the king's personal trust, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon."

The two knights stepped forward and bowed before Matthew. The slightly 
shorter one, who had dark blond hair and a somewhat secretive expression on 
his face, introduced them in full: "Baron Matthew, I am Sir Clayton Webb of 
Arundel, chief diplomatic ambassador to our king, and this," he motioned to 
the other knight, a tall, dark-haired man with lively blue-green eyes, who 
bowed silently, "Is Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance, our king's personal attaché 
in foreign affairs. We are honored to be received by you and your family and 
we bear a message from our liege lord. King Edward commands you to stay firm 
and not surrender to Clark Palmer's troupes. Reinforcements are right now on 
their way to Ireland in order to restore freedom to Leinster. We are also 
ordered to prepare a grand counsel of all noblemen in order to elect a new 
leader for the lands once peace is restored. May we claim your hospitality, 
baron?"

Matthew was relieved. Finally, there seemed to be a chance to sort out this 
affair. "We are honored by your presence, Sir Clayton, Sir Harmon. The 
king's ambassadors will always be welcome in my house. Let me present to you 
my family: Lady Mary O'Hara, my wife. My daughters, Ladies Harriet and Chloe 
O'Hara. My second cousin's son Sir Bud Roberts, betrothed to my daughter 
Harriet. And my niece, daughter of my late sister Lady Deanne: Lady Sarah 
Mackenzie."

As each of the family had been presented, they had either bowed or curtsied 
and received bows in return. Nothing special had happened until the moment 
when Sarah was presented. Sir Harmon had avoided looking openly at anyone of 
the family, his reluctance of getting too close with people always made him 
create a wall around himself from the start. But as Lady Sarah stepped 
forward with a slight, warm smile and sank into an elegant curtsy in front 
of them, Harmon's control failed him for the very first time.

Harmon and Sarah's eyes met - and held. The fearless knight felt his stomach 
tighten and his knees begin to shake at seeing her. Though dressed to mourn, 
the woman before him was still young and had lost nothing of her bloom. Her 
attitude conveyed silent submission into the women's role but at the same 
time held an inward rebellion against it and showed the determination to be 
independent. Her manners came naturally with friendliness but there was 
something to them that spoke of a deeper dimension. This woman had seen the 
difficulties of life and had emerged from them with her head uplifted.

But what captivated Harmon most were her huge dark eyes. They showed grace 
as well as tenacity, strength as well as vulnerability and temper as well as 
the ability to deeply love and commit. Harmon had never listened to the king 
and his friends as they were trying to talk him into looking for a possible 
wife. He'd found women shallow and boring. But this lady in front of him, 
who didn't shyly avert her eyes but firmly and openly returned his glance, 
showing rather unwomanly curiosity and a feeling of intellectual equality... 
Harmon instantly felt connected to her in some strange way. And the idea 
frightened him in a way he had believed a knight to be resistant to. It was 
him who finally had to break the eye contact, unable to bear the unknown 
tension.

Matthew made an inviting gesture towards the two knights. "Let me show you 
to our guest quarters, sirs, my servants will see to your horses and 
luggage. And after resting and refreshing yourselves, I hope you will 
consent to join us tonight for a little private celebration with a number of 
Irish families, celebrating the saint's day of St. Patrick." Matthew really 
hoped the Englishmen would agree - their connection with the Irish could 
indeed prove vital in the political events, as seemingly all the lower 
English gentry had joined Palmer.

Obviously the knights fully knew the situation and the conflict Matthew 
faced. "We'd be honored to join you, baron." It was the first thing Sir 
Harmon had said and Sarah felt a strange attraction to the man upon hearing 
his voice that reminded her of dark velvet.

"I am glad to hear it, Sir Harmon," Matthew stated with a warm smile. "So, 
please, sirs, follow me upstairs."

On the way out of the dining hall Harmon turned to cast one last look at 
Lady Sarah. He lifted his eyes in her direction - only to find her looking 
at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face.

Harriet, Chloe and Sarah had retreated to the library where they used to 
spend most of their indoor time. Baron Matthew had a rather unique library 
for a non-clerical person. It comprised about a hundred and fifty works, 
mostly religious as the collection had belonged to his great-great 
grandfather's brother, an abbot. Most people found it somewhat odd that 
Matthew had books at all - people didn't need to read. The friars did that 
in the monasteries, and having books copied was very expensive so why should 
they bother? Sarah was fond of reading, though. Harriet would sit by with 
her embroidery and Chloe would spend endless hours drawing chalk pictures on 
little blackboards. There was a comfortable fire burning in the hall and 
armchairs invited to sit next to it. It was the perfect place to let go of 
womanly etiquette and be oneself.

But today Sarah found it hard to concentrate on the Virgil she was reading. 
She had studied quite a bit of Latin with Father Chegwidden's help whenever 
her husband had been away and she loved the adventures of Aeneas. But today 
the letters swam in front of her eyes, even though they had been copied by a 
very capable person. And reading with a blurred vision was always dangerous 
to the precious and expensive books as a falling tear threatened to leave 
traces on the writing, washing away some ink. So finally Sarah closed the 
huge book with a sigh, letting herself sink back in her armchair.

Harriet smiled knowingly at her. "You should have seen yourself, Sarah," she 
said quietly. "Your eyes seemed like magnets holding Sir Harmon's glance."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked indignantly, blushing despite herself.

Harriet's smile only grew. "It's me, Sarah, no need to deny it. I witnessed 
your exchange with the king's attaché. He fascinates you."

Seeing Chloe look up with interest, Sarah chose not to answer until the girl 
had exited the room to find someone who had some more chalk for her.

"Sir Harmon has... uhm... interesting features," Sarah said with an 
embarrassed smile.

Harriet tried to stifle a laugh. "That's a nice understatement. He's one of 
the most handsome men I have ever seen. And he was obviously smitten with 
you, cousin."

Sarah impatiently looked down on her idle hands. "I'm supposed to mourn my 
dead husband, Harriet."

"You have been mourning him for more than a year now, Sarah. You're still a 
young woman. Try and divert yourself a little bit. And if you should happen 
to find a husband..." Harriet counseled.

Sarah looked at her cousin uneasily. "I don't know. I don't think it would 
be proper."

"Just be yourself tonight and we'll see what the future brings." Harriet 
smiled jovially.

Sarah sighed and resolved to give it a try. 'Yes,' she had to silently admit 
to herself, 'Yes, Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance did impress me. He seems to 
care for things that are beyond society and physical well-being. I'd really 
like to get to know him better.'


"Did you see her, Clay?" Harmon asked from his bed, more speaking to himself 
than to his closest friend who was trying to get some sleep on the second 
bed that stood about three meters away.

Clayton smiled. A little more of this and he would finally win his bet. 
Harmon had bet he'd never meet a woman that could possibly interest him. But 
that had been before he had learnt about the existence of Lady Sarah 
Mackenzie. "Yes, Harm, of course I saw her. A real beauty, even in her 
simple black dress. Good choice."

"Choice?" Harmon was irritated, Clayton could tell that much. Harmon went 
on, a little too quickly: "I made no choice. I just saw this woman and was 
attracted to her. Passing moment."

"I'd really appreciate it if it were a passing moment, Harm. Right now we 
need your expertise and undivided attention for the negotiations about 
Leinster's future. But obviously I won my bet..."

To Clayton's surprise Harmon didn't shoot him a sharp reply like he normally 
would have. Harmon only smiled and lay back on his bed, a sure sign that 
something was up.

"You're probably right, Clay. I'd never dare to admit it to anyone, let 
alone her. But as you're my best friend... Clay, I think I may have fallen 
in love with Lady Sarah the moment I saw her. She's someone who always 
stands her ground. Her manner of not backing away deeply impressed me. And 
she's the most beautiful woman I have ever met."

"That's quite an admission, Harm," Clayton said thoughtfully. Then he 
smiled. "Tell her. I'm sure she's feeling something similar towards you. I 
think I saw the expression in her eyes change from friendly interest to 
admiration and something beyond I couldn't quite place. Go for her, Harm."

"Never!" his friend replied vehemently. "I'd die trying to get any words 
out. And who knows if she could love me back. See, I know people marry for 
simple reasons, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but 
true love would ever force me into marriage."

"Well, then get ready for church," Clayton smiled and turned to the other 
side, leaving Harmon staring at his back, open-mouthed.

__________


Clad in the finest garments they had brought (diplomatic negotiations always 
required a certain level of decorum), Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon after 
sunset descended into the great dining hall that was lit by what must have 
been about a hundred small torches. Harmon watched his friend as he 
gallantly greeted Lady Mary. Why did Clay always prefer wearing this 
inconspicuous dark gray? He was a good-looking man, a little color would do 
him good.

The outfit Harmon preferred for official occasions always earned him praise. 
It was as modest as Clay's to be sure, but the whole set of garments had 
been bleached to a beautiful ivory white that gave its wearer a slightly 
aristocratic air. And in addition to that, Harmon always wore an old gold 
pin on the left side of his chest. He had inherited it from his father and 
it showed an eagle spreading his wings. He didn't know why, but somehow 
Harmon had always held this pin in the highest esteem.

Having greeted Baron Matthew and Lady Mary, Clayton and Harmon were led over 
to the long dining table. They didn't notice the slight smile and the wink 
that the servant who guided them cast at Lady Harriet who quickly stifled a 
satisfied smile.

"Sir Harmon," the servant now spoke up stiffly, "Sir, let me introduce you 
to your dinner partner for tonight." He turned to the woman that was 
approaching them a little shyly. A smile graced Sarah Mackenzie's features. 
Harmon's breath caught in his throat.

"Lady Sarah, meet Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance," the servant announced.

Harmon's eyes were at once drawn to those dark ones of hers, that seemed 
deep but yet impenetrable, full of a mystery Harmon didn't know anything 
about. He was frightened and fascinated at the same time. "At your service, 
milady," he said with a slight bow, never breaking the eye contact, his 
voice just a little hoarse. Sarah looked even more beautiful than she had 
upon his arrival. She was still wearing black, but there was some decent 
embroidery visible around her waist, worked in delicate dark red silk 
threats. And she was wearing a single dark red silk ribbon woven into her 
pinned-up hair. With a smile, he pulled back her chair for her.

The moment she saw him smile for the first time, Sarah knew hers was a 
hopeless case. This was no ordinary smile. It was a spell, flooding through 
her body, weakening her mind, causing her heart to start beating wildly. 
Willing herself to hold his glance, Sarah gracefully held out her right 
hand, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was trembling. "I'm honored, Sir 
Harmon."

Harmon swallowed as he took her hand. He bowed again and very softly placed 
a kiss on her knuckles. He knew very well that his lips weren't supposed to 
touch her skin, but he couldn't refrain from stealing a second of physical 
contact with her. He felt her start and at once glanced up apologetically. 
But to his astonishment, he didn't see traces of annoyance on her beautiful 
features. Her expression had changed from curiosity to... embarrassed 
excitement? The smile that she now cast him made him involuntarily hold on 
to his chair as they sat down.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Sarah spoke up in a low voice. "Sir, 
I hope you'll find your place close enough to my uncle's to conduct any 
necessary conversations."

Her statement caught him totally off-guard. Harmon had suspected that she 
would be interested to some degree in what was going on in the outside 
world, but it surprised him to actually find her informed about why they 
were here. "Umm... yes, thank you, milady. I am quite comfortable with the 
situation." Another smile.

"The families present tonight would be part of the nobility, if they weren't 
Irish," Sarah went on in a guarded voice, her expression showing an easy 
smile, though. Harmon decided it had to be some kind of a diversionary 
tactic. The others didn't need to know they were talking politics.

"Where do they belong instead?" he only asked.

"They are mostly tradesmen and salesmen, wealthy, all of them, but only few 
have access to society. As I said, we're not English." Was that a sharp edge 
in her soft voice?

"Do you resent the English?" he asked carefully.

"Some of them I do. But as you may have noticed," she cast him a wry smile, 
"I'm not really accepted either. To the English I'm Irish, to the Irish I'm 
Scottish, and the Scotsmen gladly sent me back to Ireland again."

Harmon decided he liked her sense of irony.

"You know, milady," he whispered conspiratorially, "Like you, I'm some kind 
of a wanderer between those two countries. So far we are equal."

She observed him closely, one eyebrow up. "How so, Sir Harmon?"

He tried half a smile. "My mother was born in Ireland but left with her 
family when she was still very young."

Sarah found his smile too contagious to remain earnest. Flashing him back a 
full one, but one with a decisively mocking tendency, she remarked: "Nice 
try by an Englishman to fraternize with us outcasts. But I bet your family's 
always been English, even though they were living here. Or am I mistaken, 
sir?"

Enchanted by the mischievous knowing sparkle in her eyes, Harmon held up his 
hands in defense, chuckling. "Milady, you are a mind-reader. I confess."

She only smiled back, losing herself in those blue-green eyes of his and 
trying to stay calm, at least outwardly.


Clayton had been left alone for a minute when the servant had taken Harmon 
away to show him to his place. Now he became aware of Lady Harriet walking 
towards him, accompanied by a petite woman with dark brown hair and light 
blue eyes.

"Sir Clayton, it's a pleasure to see you," Harriet greeted him, smiling.

"Milady..." Clayton exercised a perfect bow and blew a gallant kiss to her 
outstretched hand.

"Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight," Harriet 
said, indicating her friend. "Miss Aine O'Meara, my father's steward's 
daughter and a very dear friend."

Clayton silently greeted the young lady, his schooled vision instantly 
measuring her. She seemed fragile and in need of protection but something 
around the corners of her mouth belied the impression. Her smile was 
self-confident and her light blue eyes, that on first impression had seemed 
angelic, on a closer look showed a carefully guarded iron will and 
intelligence. 'This is interesting,' he thought, puzzled by her appearance. 
The freckles on her nose only added to his confusion about not being able to 
place her into a scheme.

"Sir, I believe you will find Aine a very interesting person." Clayton all 
but jumped at the forceful undertone Harriet's voice had suddenly taken on. 
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

"Aine is a close companion to Lady Lauren Palmer," Harriet explained, her 
voice very low. "Of course in Kilkenny she's not known as Aine O'Meara. She 
has been presented at Palmer's court as Megan Connelly, daughter of a London 
jeweler who sent her back to Ireland to get to know her roots."

Clayton's eyebrows went up a notch. 'This lady is definitely interesting.' 
"I am very pleased to meet you, Miss O'Meara."

"Likewise, Sir Clayton." Her voice was clear, not too high-pitched and very 
melodious.

Clayton offered his arm to Aine and led her over to the table. At a sign 
from one of the servants, they sat down face to face with Harmon and Sarah. 
Next to Clayton sat Lady Mary and Baron Matthew, Harriet took the chair next 
to Harmon and Sir Bud sat down next to her. To Sarah's right appeared an 
elderly balding friar, pulling up a chair for Chloe at his side and 
introducing himself as Father Chegwidden.

Clayton's puzzled glance met Harmon's. His friend raised his eyebrows and 
shrugged. So Clayton decided to try the direct approach as soon as the first 
course had been served. "Baron," he asked in a guarded voice, "Excuse me if 
I seem a little rude, but do you want us to discuss politics in the company 
of the ladies?"

Matthew decided not to take offence. The question hadn't shown any 
disrespect, only curiosity about this rather uncommon situation. "Yes, Sir 
Clayton," he answered openly. "I am aware that this may seem inappropriate 
but in this house, whoever takes an interest in the recent events and has 
shown himself or herself capable of digesting them intellectually, is always 
free to participate in the conversation, including the ladies."

"I see, baron." If Clayton was surprised he didn't show it.

"But I suggest we eat first," Matthew added with a smile.

"Amen to that," Father Chegwidden remarked dryly, speaking up for the first 
time and surprising the knights.

'A gruff-looking clergyman with a sense of humor. The world never ceases to 
surprise me,' Harmon thought, hiding a smile. Sarah had seen it, though.

"Father Chegwidden is a very dear friend," she told him in a 
'private-conversation' tone. Her face sobered as she went on: "I guess I owe 
it to him that I made it this far. He was always there for me when I needed 
comfort."

Harmon fought his curiosity. He craved to learn more about Lady Sarah, and 
the sadness and resignation that, for the briefest moment, had shown in her 
eyes, had made him want to gather her into his arms and protect her from the 
memories that were obviously haunting her. However, he quickly became aware 
that she didn't need protection. Studying Harmon's face intently, Sarah's 
own slowly lit up again to a huge smirk.

"No need to hide your curiosity, sir. I've seen this expression too often on 
Chloe's face. It never escapes my notice. You are free to ask questions, 
sir, which I am free not to answer. Go ahead." She smiled at him openly.

'My God, I claim to be a diplomat and a skilled negotiator. I can't be that 
obvious, can I?' Harmon was mentally slapping himself as a slight blush 
crept to his cheeks and he embarrassedly averted his eyes for a moment. 
Finally he decided that taking her up on her offer would be the easiest way 
out. "Thank you, milady, and I beg your pardon if I touch a topic you would 
rather not remember. But as I am, as you say, free to ask any questions: 
When did your husband die?"

"It's been a little more than a year now, sir," she answered openly, not in 
the least offended. Sensing what kind of information the knight would 
probably like to gather and feeling eager herself to supply him with the 
important facts, she added: "I was married to Lord Christopher Ragle, back 
in Scotland, for the last twenty years."

Harmon's eyes nearly popped out of their holes. Twenty years! She had to be 
much nearer his own age - forty - than he'd have thought possible. She 
looked so young. "Do you... do you have any children?" he asked, his voice a 
little hoarse, feeling a sudden sting of jealousy towards the man who had 
been allowed to love this woman for so long.

Her expression clouded and, swallowing, she looked down on her plate.

"I beg your pardon, milady. Don't answer if it hurts you." 'Ever the 
diplomat, Harmon, ever the diplomat. You do a thorough job conjuring up bad 
memories,' he scolded himself.

"No, I'll answer," she replied very low, again looking up to him. Sarah was 
astonished by herself. She had spoken of her children to no one else but 
Father Chegwidden and Harriet. Everyone in her family knew about them, of 
course, but no one ever alluded to it. Strangely, though, Sarah felt she 
wanted to talk to Harmon about her shattered dreams of having a family. She 
barely knew him but somehow she felt he was someone to confide in. The 
realization made her uneasy but she tried to ignore the feeling.

"I was sixteen when my firstborn, Christopher, died while I was giving 
birth." Her voice was strained and low, but something deep inside urged her 
to go on. "My second child, Deanne, was allowed to live a week before the 
Lord took her to him. When I was twenty, I had another son, Matthew, who was 
born far too early to survive. After that I've never been blessed with a 
child again. And I never will be, I'm afraid." The last was added in a 
whisper.

Harmon felt the desperate need to ease some of the pain showing on Sarah's 
beautiful features. But he didn't know how. How could he? The idea of having 
a family had never occurred to him. Until today... With a start he realized 
where his thoughts were heading. With all the mental strength he could 
muster, he banished them from his mind. "At least you had your husband to 
comfort and support you." It sounded lame.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "He was most comforting to me when he was 
far away. I could at least feel sure to go to sleep in one piece. I had 
Father Chegwidden to help me. He taught me to read and write and to read 
Latin, too. I spent many hours in the library of the nearby monastery. It 
was the kind of diversion I needed." Sarah was scrutinizing the food on her 
plate.

"I am infinitely sorry, milady. I shouldn't have started asking questions." 
Harmon didn't know where to look. His left hand that was resting on his 
thigh had clenched to a tight fist when he had understood just what kind of 
a marriage she had endured in the last twenty years. How could a man be 
blessed with such a woman and treat her in such a way?

"I offered to answer them," was her simple reply. She looked up again and 
met his glance. An incredible feeling of warmth and shelter welled up inside 
her as she heard him say: "Don't let go of your dreams, milady. I can feel 
that one day they will finally come true. All of them."


Clayton and Aine had been talking animatedly about almost everything. 
Clayton found his partner a bright and amusing woman, thoroughly educated 
and equipped with an accurate sense of judgment. Obviously she had attended 
private lessons together with Harriet. Aine had been lucky that her father's 
master clung to the odd point of view that women should have their share of 
education. And to that she added an amazing readiness to respond, parrying 
every sharp sentence he shot her. Clayton reluctantly admitted to himself 
that he deliberately challenged her because he had come to like the sparkle 
that was showing in her eyes when she was preparing for attack.

Suddenly Aine leant close to him and conspiratorially said: "Look at your 
friend and Sarah. They seem to have forgotten we even exist."

Clayton's smirk was huge. "I guess Harmon owes me a bottle of whiskey from 
his father's distillery."

Aine looked at him with a mocking frown. "Why?"

"Because Harmon the Impenetrable Heart has finally fallen in love with 
someone."

"Was it that improbable that he would some day?"

Clayton chuckled at her indignant impression. "At least to him, yes. He has 
never had an interest in women. Of course he had his share of experience 
when he was still a little younger but there has never been one single 
female human being that came even close to enchant him. God knows, all our 
friends, his family, even the king himself tried to convince him to marry 
but he is stubborn. Whoever we came up with - the ladies never suited him."

"And you, sir?"

Her question caught him totally off-guard. He choked on his wine and needed 
a few moments to regain his breathing. Suddenly feeling uneasy, he replied 
lightly: "Fifteen years ago there was a girl I proposed to. She wouldn't 
have me. End of conversation. I find I am far better off like this. And I 
don't suffer any teasing because I tried." He smiled innocently.

"Ah," was all she said. Somehow Clayton got the unwelcome feeling that 
inwardly Aine was laughing at his expense. And more disturbing still was the 
fact that it bothered him this much.

"Miss O'Meara," Baron Matthew now cut in, "I think the other guests are busy 
with their meals and their own conversations now. Would you mind giving us 
the news now that you spoke of?"

Everyone in the family circle, including the two knights, immediately turned 
their attention to her.

"Of course, baron," Aine answered readily. "The situation is easily 
described: Palmer somehow learnt of King Edward moving his army towards the 
Irish sea, planning to cross it from the Welsh land's end. Palmer's soldiers 
set up an ambush to greet the royal troops once they set foot on Irish 
soil."

"Do we know anything about the exact location and the nature of this 
ambush?" Harmon asked.

"Unfortunately not yet. We haven't yet found a suitable solution to the 
problem of viewing the situation unobtrusively," Aine answered with a frown.

"We can't spare any men right now," Matthew sighed. "Palmer's troops are 
closing in and I need my men to defend their families. So who could be 
sent?"

"Baron, if I may... I have a proposition to make," Aine ventured boldly. 
Astonished glances met her eyes. "You could spare Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon 
as you didn't count on them when you and my father first prepared your 
defenses. They could go, examine the situation and immediately cross over to 
Wales to meet and warn the king, whereas... someone else would return and 
brief you."

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I know that expression, Miss O'Meara. Your 
father's is just the same when he is up to something. So, tell me, who would 
get the news back to the castle?"

"Lady Sarah, Father Chegwidden and I would, baron." Aine's expression was 
devoid of any joking. As she saw that several people - mostly male - around 
the table were all taking deep breaths to vehemently contradict, she held up 
a hand. "I proposed my plan to my father and after calming down and thinking 
about it, he found that it might actually be our only chance to do it and 
still guarantee a certain safety for the messengers. Sarah and I would be 
traveling as nuns, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as friars. Father Chegwidden 
would be head of our group, the friars escorting their sisters in God to 
another monastery, farther away from the uproars. Being clericals, we would 
be relatively safe on the road."

'Good one, this one!' Clayton thought, suppressing a grin. He was the first 
to break the stunned silence that prevailed as Aine's words sank in. "I 
think, Miss O'Meara has indeed found the only practicable solution to our 
dilemma. Lady Sarah, would you agree to participate?"

Matthew tried to intervene but his niece was quicker. "Of course I do." 
Seeing the way her jaw was set, Matthew sighed, knowing there would be no 
way to dissuade her from going. Harmon cast Clayton a worried glance but 
after a minute silently consented. Given the situation as it was, this would 
indeed turn out to be the best way to proceed. He only dreaded to involve 
Sarah in a situation like this.

"Don't make yourself uneasy, gentlemen," Father Chegwidden spoke up. "I 
promise to bring them back safely."

Matthew looked at his wife, at Bud, at Harriet - and finally shrugged as he 
found that they all agreed with Aine. "All right. The five of you shall ride 
tomorrow morning."

They had finished their fruit as a couple of musicians were led into the 
room, took a stand at the far side and started to play a merry reel.

"Oh, come on, let's dance and forget about politics for awhile!" Harriet 
eagerly got up and dragged her fiancé with her. Matthew and Mary just 
watched, smiling.

"Do you dance, Miss O'Meara?" Clayton heard himself say, utterly unable to 
explain where the idea had come from. He never danced although he had learnt 
it as part of a young nobleman's general education. Harmon's head snapped up 
and he stared incredulously at his friend, who was beginning to regret 
making the offer.

Aine radiantly beamed at Clayton. "I love dancing, sir. I'm honored by your 
offer and I gladly accept."

Harmon took a deep breath and, feeling unsure, turned to Sarah. "Might I 
claim this dance, milady?"

"I am sorry," she replied, looking down at her hands that were lying idly in 
her lap. Harmon's heart sank. He had offended her with his questions, he 
knew it. Sarah looked up again, longing and sadness shining in her eyes. "I 
would love to dance with you, Sir Harmon, but it wouldn't be proper. I am 
still mourning my late husband."

Normally this would have been sad news, but Harmon's relief that it hadn't 
been his fault made him smile. "May I suggest a little fresh air on the 
terrace then, milady?"

Sarah's face immediately lit up. "With pleasure."

Neither of the two noticed the smiles Matthew, Mary and Father Chegwidden 
exchanged behind their backs.


Outside, a starry sky was spreading over the castle. Harmon and Sarah were 
alone on the huge stone terrace that provided a spectacular view over the 
many curves of the river Barrow whose waters were reflecting the starlight. 
Standing side by side and silently enjoying the atmosphere, neither of them 
spoke a word. Only after quite some time Sarah addressed him quietly.

"When all this is over, what will you do, Sir Harmon?"

He let his gaze wander far off. "Right now I don't know. With the upcoming 
political developments there might be a major change of position in store 
for me. If I prove myself capable in the negotiations, that is."

"Do you really think people will be able to agree on a new sovereign for 
Leinster?" she asked thoughtfully, doubts shining in her voice. To her 
astonishment, his answer bore audible traces of a smile.

"Clayton and I might just have a little surprise weapon in our pockets," was 
all he said and she sensed that he wouldn't dwell on the subject any 
further.

"So, what do you do, once your mourning is over?" he asked after a while. He 
had meant to say it lightly, but failed.

"I don't know, either," she replied with a sigh. "I won't have much of a 
choice. I can either remarry or stay right here." He knew she was being 
realistic and the injustice of her situation hit him. He wanted her to be 
able to decide her fate entirely by herself. She deserved it.

"Why don't you do something different? You are an independent woman, Lady 
Sarah. Go and get to know the world," he encouraged her. Her bitter laugh 
hurt.

"It's easy for you to propose something of the kind, sir. You are a man. 
Although I feel up to the challenge I could never do it. Being a woman can 
be kind of a prison." She sighed. "Do you know how lucky you are, sir? You 
are free in your decisions. There is absolutely no one to tell you what to 
do except God and the king and your local sovereign."

She was wrong. She was wrong and he had to tell her, now. Looking down and 
locking his gaze with hers, he softly and intensely replied: "Until 
yesterday I would have agreed. But today I find that my situation will never 
be the same again. There is someone who can order me. Sarah," he swallowed, 
"My heart..." He put his right hand to the left side of his chest. "My 
voice..." With his fingertips he touched his lower lip. "And my mind..." He 
brought his fingertips to his temple. "Are yours to command." His right hand 
closed to a fist, he put it to his left shoulder and inclined his head in 
silent submission before her.

When he looked up again, he found her eyes brimming with tears. "Harmon," 
she softly answered, making his heart beat frantically at her informal use 
of his name, "My mind..." She gently put her fingertips to her temple. "My 
voice..." She softly touched her lower lip. "And my heart..." She laid her 
right hand on the left side of her chest, never breaking the eye contact. 
"Are yours to possess." She held her hand out to him, her palm turned up.

Harmon's hand was trembling when his fingers encircled hers. They stood 
frozen in their position for several long minutes, lost in each other's 
eyes. Finally, she gently pulled her hand away, offering him the most 
beautiful smile he had ever seen.

"Good night, Harmon."

"Good night, Sarah."

She turned and entered the hall, excused herself from society, claiming she 
needed some sleep before going on their secret mission in the morning, and 
went upstairs. Laying down on her bed, the image of Harmon was the last 
thing she saw before drifting off to sleep.

__________


The sun hadn't yet risen when the five riders set off on their quest. The 
sky was a pale cobalt blue, passing through violet to a faint reddish glow 
somewhere near the horizon. The grass was wet with dew and the horses' 
breath hung in the chilly air, forming little clouds. All was silent.  The 
silence was so intimidating that no one spoke, or even thought about 
speaking. The only sounds were the soft taps of the horses' hooves on the 
path and the occasional soft whinnying.

They rode in single file, Father Chegwidden taking the lead on his trusty 
old mule. Then followed Aine as she knew where they were headed. Sarah rode 
in the middle, keeping contact to both ends of their file and passing on any 
information. Clayton had let Harmon go directly behind her, knowing his 
friend somehow needed to be near this lady. He had no idea just what had 
happened between the two of them the night before, but something must have. 
Harmon had been walking on air the whole evening. So he, Clayton, had 
decided to ride last and watch out from behind.

Sarah was feeling increasingly uneasy. Harmon had given her no sign 
whatsoever that he remembered their conversation of the previous night. He 
had greeted her without a smile when they met, had not even so much as 
looked at her, and whenever she now turned around to pass on something that 
had been said in front he would sort of stare right through her and 
acknowledge with nothing but a short nod that he had understood. At first, 
Sarah had been thoroughly shaken by his odd behavior. A sudden flash of hurt 
had stung violently in her heart and only with a huge effort had she gulped 
down her rising tears.

Then, taking in the whole group, she had suddenly found the explanation. He 
was acting his role. Harmon and Clayton had been given simple brown woolen 
habits by Father Chegwidden who was a Franciscan. It had been more difficult 
to get the ladies equipped but Father Chegwidden had sent a trustworthy 
young friar on an express ride to the nearby monastery of Carmelites to get 
the necessary garments for them. The only problem was that Aine and Sarah, 
pretending to be Carmelites, would have to go barefooted. But it couldn't be 
helped.

Seeing Harmon put on his hood and adjust his girdle, Sarah became aware that 
he might just be trying to create a distance that would be necessary to make 
people believe that they were in fact who they pretended to be. Any personal 
interest displayed between friars and sisters would only create unwelcome 
attention. Adjusting her own behavior to those rules, Sarah had ridden off, 
feeling comforted. But as the hours crept on and on, doubts began to rise at 
the back of her mind if Sir Harmon might be sorry for what he had said to 
her the day before. Not having known real love and friendship until a year 
ago and being accustomed to trusting no one completely, Sarah's resolve to 
give Harmon the benefit of a doubt was melting away as quickly as the sun 
now rose in the east.

Harmon had at once sensed the slight change in Lady Sarah's attitude towards 
him. As they continued their journey, he was growing more and more desperate 
that he had no opportunity to set her mind at ease and make the hurt vanish 
from those beautiful eyes he had come to love. But he knew that their safety 
depended entirely on not being disclosed as who they were in reality, so he 
continued to ignore her best as he could. However, a little voice at the 
back of his mind kept telling him that he was using their cover as an excuse 
to ignore his feelings that had quickly grown into something unknown and 
frightening. 'If you really wanted to,' the little voice kept repeating, 
'You would find a way to get to her without being obtrusive. You just don't 
dare to try.'


They had followed down the Barrow's shores for a couple of hours, careful to 
avoid any villages, stopping at a parsonage once for supplies. Father 
Chegwidden had carefully seen to it that they regularly held their 
obligatory prayers, just in case anyone was observing them. By the time the 
sun was high in the sky, Aine motioned for them to continue eastward, 
leaving the Barrow to their backs. The area they now came across was much 
less densely populated than the Barrow's valley. Woods and green fields 
alternated along their way. As they finally entered the woods once again, 
Father Chegwidden called them to a halt.

"I reckon we are far enough from any settlements that we can rest.  If we 
want to spend the night, we will need to find shelter and make a fire. 
Sarah, what's the time?" The clergyman looked at his protégée.

"Almost five o'clock, father," came her immediate reply. Harmon cast her a 
puzzled glance that grew more puzzled still as, only a minute later, the 
bells of a faraway church tower could be heard tolling five.

"Milady, how do you do that?" Clayton asked in amazement.

Sarah smiled slightly. "I have always been able to do that." She would say 
no more.

Harmon knew that now, far away from civilization, would have been the right 
time and place to let Sarah know how he felt. But during all those hours of 
silent riding he had become rather accustomed to the behavior required of 
his role, and it was a lot easier than thinking about his feelings for 
Sarah, territory foreign to him until yesterday. So, almost out of a habit, 
he quickly averted his eyes when he met her glance.

All day, Sarah had been desperately waiting for this moment that would 
finally relieve her from her silent suffering. The feelings for the tall, 
dark-haired nobleman that she had discovered within herself were entirely 
new to her as well. She had never loved anyone this way in her life. These 
emotions were threatening to drown her, to suffocate her, to eat her up from 
inside if she couldn't get a hold of the anchor she needed  - the certainty 
that Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance felt the same for her.

When she saw him avert his eyes, now that there was no more need to do so, 
Sarah's world shattered to pieces. She had finally managed to convince 
herself that she might be a woman someone could in fact love, only to see 
that someone back away. Tired from the long ride and the continuous 
emotional struggle, she was now unable to fight her tears. Resolving that no 
one should see her cry, she quickly turned, squared her shoulders and 
somehow managed to steady her voice.

"I will go gather some firewood." With that she quickly disappeared in the 
woods.

Father Chegwidden had busied himself with the horses a little farther away. 
As he returned to the group, he stopped dead in his tracks at the scene that 
was unfolding before him.

Even though Aine O'Meara had been riding in front of Sarah, she had become 
aware that strained tension had been building up high between the two riders 
behind her. She, too, had been waiting for the moment the tension would be 
allowed to finally dissolve. Now witnessing Harmon rejecting her best 
friend's beloved cousin in such a way, Aine lost her temper. She quickly 
stormed up to a startled Sir Harmon and furiously glared up into the much 
taller man's eyes.

"How dare you?" she shouted, her eyes sending daggers. "How dare you treat 
her like this after inducing her to let down her guard yesterday? I don't 
know what happened between the two of you but I've known Sarah Mackenzie for 
about a year now, and she would never, never let anyone get near her if she 
didn't for some reason trust him to not hurt her!  There are very few people 
that she actually allows to come close. She decided to trust you and now you 
betray her like this! Shame on you, Harmon Rabb! You don't deserve her! And 
now you can have me punished me for being disrespectful to a nobleman!"

Utterly taken aback, Harmon watched the raging young woman in front of him 
as she took two long steadying breaths, cast him one last icy stare and 
walked away in the direction of their luggage. At a loss, Harmon looked at 
Clayton who had stood by quietly, watching.

"You heard her, Harm," was his sole comment.

"But Clay, what am I supposed to do? This is new to me! I couldn't 
possibly..."

Clayton only gave him an exasperated look and with a sigh went over to help 
Aine set up the camp.

Slowly it dawned on Harmon that his - by his judgment - little faux pas 
towards Sarah could have severe consequences for his own future happiness. 
Looking up and meeting Father Chegwidden's earnest gaze, he began to 
understand that establishing a relationship didn't end with admitting one's 
feelings. That was merely where it began. Fear started to rise inside him as 
Harmon came to the conclusion that only one thing could possibly straighten 
out this mess he had created. He would have to find Sarah and convince her 
somehow that he meant what he'd said the night before. And this time, he 
would do it with full knowledge of what it implied. He closed his eyes, took 
a deep breath and set off in the direction Sarah had gone.


Aine was rummaging through their supplies, still fuming, tears blurring her 
vision. True, she hadn't known Sarah for a long time, but she knew that her 
best friend, Harriet, adored her, and Aine herself had come to like her very 
much in the course of the last year. She had always wished someone would 
show up and grant Sarah a second chance at true personal happiness. She 
deserved it so much. And Aine had been as rapturous as Harriet when she 
sensed the instant chemistry between Sarah and Sir Harmon who had seemed an 
honorable and sensitive man. Until now. It wasn't fair. Sniffling, Aine 
quickly wiped away an angry tear and continued her search for she didn't 
know what. Suddenly she heard someone clear his throat next to her.

"Excuse me, Miss O'Meara, may I offer you my handkerchief?" Clayton politely 
asked, wanting to be of service.

She turned to face him, smiling embarrassedly. "I apologize for my behavior, 
sir. It was uncalled for."

Not thinking about what he was doing, Clayton, with a half-smile, reached 
out and gently dried the tears on her cheeks with his handkerchief. Only 
after a few moments he suddenly became aware of what he was doing and, with 
a startled glance, took his hand away, looking down uneasily.

"Thank you," Aine said quietly.

"You're welcome, Miss O'Meara," Clayton said in an even lower voice, 
tentatively meeting her eyes and finding her smiling at him. He studied her 
face for a moment, before confusedly turning and joining Father Chegwidden 
with what he was doing.

"Thank you for sparing me from having to play the angry preacher, Miss 
O'Meara," Father Chegwidden said, never interrupting his work.


Harmon had been searching the woods for quite some time when he found her. 
Sarah was sitting on a huge stone, a small pile of firewood scattered at her 
feet, her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently. The sight tore at 
Harmon's heart. And what hurt more still was the knowledge that he was to 
blame. Careful not to scare her, he made his way up to her and kneeled down 
beside her.

"Please forgive me," he said, his voice not entirely even. "This is new to 
me. I don't know how to act on it."

Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice. She looked at him, hurt and mistrust 
shining in her eyes. "You seemed to know yesterday," she answered warily.

"I didn't," he replied, looking down. "I acted on intuition."

Sarah's heart suffered another sting of pain. So his admission had come from 
an impulse of the moment. And the feelings had passed just as quickly. 
Forcing down the urge to again let her tears flow, she inwardly closed up, 
determined to save her dignity. "I see. I am willing to forget whatever 
happened if that is what you want, sir."

'Wrong way again, Harm. Great job you're doing there.' "No!" It almost came 
out as a cry. Startled, she looked up at him. Trembling, he took her hands 
in his. "No," he repeated softly, "I don't want to forget what I said 
because..." He swallowed heavily. "Because I meant it. I do still."

"How do I know you do?" she asked sadly, her eyes searching his for the 
truth she needed.

"Let me prove it to you, Sarah," he gently pleaded. "I imagine you may find 
it hard to trust me right now. But I can live with that if I know that 
you'll give me the benefit of a doubt and let me wait for my chance to prove 
that what I said is true. Do I ask too much?" Subconsciously chewing his 
lower lip, he waited for his predicament.

She looked at him with a thoughtful half-smile, tears still threatening. "I 
guess I can do that, Harmon." She gave his hands a quick, shy squeeze.

Harmon let go of her hands, stood up and turned to leave, sensing Sarah 
needed some time alone to come to terms with her feelings. After a few steps 
he stopped to look back and found her watching him. He silently brought his 
right hand to his heart, to his lips and then to his temple, afterwards 
making a fist and laying it on his left shoulder, bowing his head. 'My 
heart, my voice and my mind are yours to command, Sarah. Always.'

Sarah held her breath as she silently returned the gesture the same way she 
had yesterday. With her right hand, she touched her temple, her lips and her 
chest and then shyly, silently, held the hand out towards him. 'Even though 
you hurt me, Harmon, I forgive you, as my mind, my voice and my heart will 
always be yours to possess.'

He cast her a silent smile and, to his relief, found her smiling in return, 
a little unsure, but smiling all the same. As he turned and walked away, 
Sarah let out a sigh, clueless as to how she should feel.


They spent the night on a small clearing that was situated a good deal away 
from the path they had been following through the woods. Per a silent 
agreement, personal issues weren't brought up anymore, and Aine, Clayton and 
Father Chegwidden noted, relieved, that a little of the earlier tension had 
dissipated. Harmon and Sarah even smiled when they exchanged a shy "Good 
night."

Early the next morning, they set off again, still heading eastward, until 
around three o'clock in the afternoon when they reached the coast. There was 
no sign of Palmer's army. Aine pointed out that she might have overheard 
that their main camp might be situated about five miles south from where 
they were. They decided to split up in order to gather more information. 
Father Chegwidden would try to get in touch with any clergyman that might be 
traveling with Palmer's troops. Harmon and Sarah were to ride to the shore, 
trying to find out where the king's ships could land and what defenses 
Palmer had set up against them. Clayton and Aine would try to gather 
information on the numbers and weapons of Palmer's army. They would meet 
again at nightfall when Harmon and Clayton would embark on a fishing boat 
they had hired in order to reach King Edward's army at the Welsh land's end 
in the shelter of the darkness.


Harmon and Sarah were walking along the beach, side by side, careful to 
maintain a proper distance from each other. Their horses were trudging 
behind them as the friar and the sister with a huge sack went from one 
fisherman's house to another, collecting alms. People would eye them 
suspiciously at first, but as their garments were authentic and both, being 
educated, played their roles very well, they'd eventually believe them and 
even answer their cautious and seemingly casual questions about the ongoing 
preparations.

It seemed that Palmer had all possible landing spots thoroughly covered with 
'welcoming parties'. Harmon's worry was steadily increasing about what to 
tell the king where to direct his ships. "If we don't come up with a 
solution to this problem, I wouldn't know how to get the royal troops safely 
to your rescue, milady," he told Sarah with a sigh and a frown when they had 
left yet another house with the information of yet another small bay already 
equipped with Palmer's personnel.

"Maybe we should ask differently. They might know of a way to land on the 
shore that we didn't think of," she suggested, not really convinced.

He smiled slightly. "Maybe we should just pray."

Once again she found his smile contagious. "That could work. But I vote the 
first option." She smiled back mischievously. Slowly, very slowly they were 
becoming comfortable with each other again. And though none of them alluded 
to it, both were well aware of the gradual change and felt more relieved 
than they would admit.

They had arrived at the doorstep of a house that stood a little deserted. 
Their knocks were instantly answered by a smirking redhead in his early 
forties, Sarah estimated.

"Come on in," he greeted them conspiratorially, grinning, "We've been 
expecting you."

Sarah and Harmon exchanged a puzzled glance, but nevertheless followed the 
man inside. He had them sit down and offered them a cup of cold milk. "I'm 
Bryan Robinson. You know, my brother John is the priest of the local church 
and he just dropped by, telling me that a Father Chegwidden had come to see 
him. He instantly recognized him as an enemy to this bastard Palmer and 
hinted that our family's been sabotaging Palmer's people whenever they get 
an opportunity. I know those are all little things, but seeing one of them 
upset always makes me feel fine. So I keep doing it. And imagine how we 
feel, now that we have the opportunity to really get back to him for good by 
helping you!" Robinson was excitedly pacing up and down in front of the 
table where Harmon and Sarah were seated.

Another quick smile passed between the visitors. "Then you might be aware 
where our main problem lies," Harmon ventured carefully, trying not to give 
away too much but on the other hand hoping they had indeed found an ally.

"I don't know for sure, but I guess you're trying to find a way to get your 
people over here safely," Robinson said, still grinning excitedly. "I tell 
you something, sir. If I understood correctly what Father Chegwidden told my 
brother, you and your friend will cross over tonight. Tell the king to bring 
forth his troops by nightfall tomorrow. They must head a little northwest. 
If they stay on a straight course set between the Pleiades and the W of 
Cassiopeia, they reach a part of the coast where Palmer doesn't expect them 
to land. There are too many cliffs and underwater rocks and currents to do 
it safely, if," he smirked, "You don't know where to go. I do, though. I 
will meet them with my boat about half a mile from the coast and will guide 
the ships to a rather large bay that would be ideal to land in. Only no one 
does because they can't get past the cliffs. But I can. And Palmer doesn't 
know that!" Robinson was enjoying this immensely, Sarah and Harmon could 
tell.

Smiling slightly, Harmon stood and shook the fisherman's hand. "I thank you 
immensely, Mr. Robinson. You probably just saved your people." Then, 
sobering and straightening, his glance suddenly displaying a burden of duty 
and responsibility that Sarah had never yet detected in his eyes, Harmon 
added something neither Robinson nor Sarah would have expected. "In the name 
of all Leinster, I thank you for your service. Be assured that you will be 
rewarded once law and order are restored to the lands."

"Oh my God..." Robinson muttered, instantly getting down on one knee and 
bowing his head. "I am honored by your trust, milord. I solemnly swear I 
shan't betray it."

"I know you won't. Meet our fleet tomorrow night then, half a mile from the 
coast, and be sure to signal to them. But with the navigation instructions 
you supplied you should be able to meet them. God bless you, Robinson." With 
that, Harmon gathered the sack, silently motioned for Sarah to follow him 
and left the humble abode.

Sarah needed several minutes to recover from her shock. So that was what 
Harmon had been enigmatically referring to when he had mentioned their 
'secret weapon'. Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance was none less than the rightful 
heir of the Leinster lands! Utterly confused, Sarah stepped up in front of 
him and sank into a deep curtsy before her sovereign. "Milord..." was all 
she could say.

"Please rise, we aren't at the royal court right now," Harmon replied, a 
little embarrassed. "Lady Sarah, I feel I need to apologize for not 
confiding in you earlier," he immediately went on, fear rising that she 
would only back away further from him now. "But Sir Clayton and I first 
wanted to make sure whom we could trust. You two and Robinson are the only 
ones who know, now. To be honest, until about four months ago, I didn't know 
either that the task would fall on me. But one day a royal messenger showed 
up at Penzance castle, ordering me to follow him to London. There I was 
shown documents that prove that my Irish mother was in fact the daughter of 
one of William Marshall's five great-great-great-grandchildren who lived to 
grow up. It seems she was an illegitimate child and her mother sent her to 
live with a foster family in England. None of the remaining Marshalls lived 
through the troubles. So here I am..." He smiled a little helplessly, 
obviously unsure what to think of his position.

Sarah sensed that Harmon was in desperate need of all the support he could 
possibly get for his new position. So, rising, she looked up at him with a 
gentle smile. "Milord, I know I can speak for my entire family that we would 
be honored and willing to continue the long tradition of advising and 
counseling that has always been the basis for the bond between the Marshalls 
and the O'Haras, who faithfully served them for centuries. Be assured of our 
unlimited loyalty and assistance."

She started when he took her hands in his. "You can't be aware just how much 
I appreciate your offer. I gladly accept. But," he swallowed, averted his 
eyes for a moment as if he couldn't bear her glance on him, but then forced 
them back again to meet hers, his expression unreadable. "What I need most 
to keep me going, to help me succeed in the enormous tasks that lie before 
me, is a loyal hand and heart at my side. Someone to support me when all 
threatens to overwhelm me, to give me strength when I falter, and to be my 
shelter when I need a place to rest. Someone to comfort me when things get 
rough and, most of all, someone who makes all this worth taking and 
enduring, in the knowledge that I do it for her and for our children. Sarah, 
would you do me the immense honor of taking that very place at my side?" 
Harmon again swallowed heavily and desperately searched her eyes for a hint 
at how she would answer.

Conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm her. 'Yesterday he betrayed 
your trust,' Sarah thought, her heart racing. 'But he apologized and swore 
to prove himself worthy of it.' She had no idea why, but against her better 
judgment, she was again ready to trust him. Somehow she was sure he had been 
honest when he confessed he did not fully know how to act on those new 
feelings. This would place the two of them in a similar situation. And this 
being the case, she came to understand what had led him to push her away the 
day before. Maybe together they could face their emotions, one being the 
rock for the other to lean on. Her voice told of rising tears when she 
finally answered. "I don't think it will always be easy but if you are 
willing to take me as I am, I gladly consent, milord."

"My Sarah..." he whispered in awe, slowly closing the distance and meeting 
her lips in a feather-light kiss. "Once I get back, I will speak with your 
uncle," he promised when he broke the contact.

"I will pray for your safe return, Harmon," was all she said, looking up to 
him, love shining in her eyes that was fully mirrored in his. Silently they 
set off for the meeting point.


They didn't give the slightest sign of what had happened when they met with 
their friends. A quick exchange of information made it clear that obviously 
Palmer had far less men awaiting the royal fleet than they would have 
thought. Somehow this information was unnerving. Something was up. Still, 
Clayton was enormously relieved when Harmon told the group of the 
arrangements that had been made for the landing of the royal ships.

When darkness had finally set in, they went over to the shore and met with 
the fishermen that were hired to take the knights to the Welsh coast. Father 
Chegwidden spoke a quick blessing, took their horses' reins and left them 
alone.

"Promise me to be careful, Miss O'Meara," Clayton heard himself say with far 
too much concern for his liking. "We need your services with Lady Lauren," 
he added gruffly, not really succeeding in covering his former display of 
emotions.

"I promise," Aine simply replied with a sincere smile.

"God bless you, Harmon," Sarah said quietly.

"And you, Sarah."

The two knights stepped onto the small boat that would take them to the 
larger ship anchored at sea. As the boat was being pushed into the waves, 
Harmon turned and, with a smile, brought his right hand to his heart, his 
lips and his temple, afterwards bowing with his fist on his left shoulder.

As Aine and Clayton watched Sarah smile back, her right hand touching her 
temple, her lips and her chest and subsequently holding her hand out towards 
him, they instantly decided that they didn't really need to know the deeper 
meaning of the gestures.

Aine and Sarah were watching in silence as the little boat disappeared, lost 
in thoughts until suddenly they became aware of Father Chegwidden rushing up 
to them, a frightening pallor on his face.

"What is it, father?" Sarah asked, concerned.

The priest very earnestly looked at them. "Ladies, we have no home to return 
to. Baron O'Hara's castle is right now under siege by the larger part of 
Lord Palmer's army."

__________


The threesome rode day and night until their horses nearly collapsed under 
them. It was a lucky circumstance that they had Harmon and Clayton's horses 
with them. They could at least relieve the animals from carrying their 
weight from time to time. On the following day, as the sun began to sink, 
they were nearing the O'Hara castle. Carefully they left the path and 
entered the dark woodland on the hills overlooking the river Barrow. When 
they found a small clearing with a well between two steep slopes, they 
finally decided to rest.

Father Chegwidden immediately attended to the horses, wiping their backs 
with dried leaves as he had no straws. Aine built a little fire and began 
preparing a meal, thankful for the many alms Harmon and Sarah had collected 
in the intent of passing them on to Father Chegwidden's monastery. Now, the 
situation being as it was, they might turn out to be vital to their 
survival.

Sarah climbed up the slope and searched for a viewing point to get a clear 
picture of the situation. When she had reached the top she luckily found it 
devoid of trees and providing a decent overview of the valley and all 
activities in it.

The first thing she understood was that the siege ring was impenetrable, 
from the outside as well as from inside the castle. Palmer must have brought 
at least five hundred men with him. And his army was very heavily armed. 
They had three catapults and a lot of ammunition for them.

The second revelation that hit her was that the situation inside the castle 
must slowly become desperate. All the wells were outside the siege ring. She 
had no idea how much water was stored inside the castle walls. What if they 
ran short?

But there was nothing to be done. Surrender was not an option, she knew and 
supported that. All of her family, and most of their faithful servants as 
well, would rather die than turn their home over to a tyrant. There was 
little activity to be seen in the soldiers' camps. It seemed that Palmer was 
content to sit and wait until Baron Matthew was forced to crawl on his hands 
and knees. Sarah prayed that her people would last until Harmon and Clayton 
brought back the royal army. At least she knew that word of the siege would 
have spread throughout the land by the time they arrived.

Sighing deeply and consumed with worry, Sarah turned to make her way back 
down the slope. Just before sitting down in order to safely slide down the 
hill instead of taking the risk of falling, she stepped onto something hard 
and sharp with her bare foot. Looking down in the quickly fading daylight, 
she became aware of a square stone slab that was half hidden by the high 
herbs. Silently swearing, she examined her foot that luckily did not show 
any injuries and resolved to return to the spot the next day when there 
would be more light to examine what exactly she had stepped upon.

In the meantime Aine had prepared their supper and she, Sarah and Father 
Chegwidden tried to make themselves comfortable around the fire that they 
kept low to avoid being seen. "So what did you find out, Sarah?" Aine asked.

Sarah told them what she had seen. "I am really worried about their water 
supplies," she added, her voice strained. "If only we could find a way to 
get to them without being noticed. Then we could lead Palmer on until the 
royal troops arrive!"

"Do you know your bible, Sarah?" Father Chegwidden asked calmly.

"Of course I do, father. Where are you headed with this question if I may 
ask?"

"The siege of Jerusalem." He said no more than that.

After a few minutes, Aine understood what he was suggesting. "They had a 
hidden well! That's why they could not take the city until they found out! 
But..." she sobered. "We do not have one. So where is the point thinking 
about it?"

"True," Father Chegwidden acknowledged, sighing. "But I know there used to 
be some hidden entrance to the dungeons, far away from the castle. Only that 
it has been three generations now that anybody knew of its location. But if 
we were to find it..."

"...we could supply them with everything they need," Sarah took up his 
speech. And suddenly she had a suspicion. "I think our constant prayers may 
have worked a miracle," she continued excitedly. "Up on the hill I came 
across something that, in hindsight, might indeed be some sort of an 
entrance to something! Sure, we are quite a bit away from the castle, but 
that's the point about hiding the entrance to a secret passage, isn't it?"

For the first time in her life, Sarah detected something like happy 
excitement on the friar's face. "My goodness, Sarah, that must have been 
real guidance from above! I suggest we go to sleep now and check it out 
early tomorrow morning." The ladies heartily agreed.

As she settled down to sleep, Sarah finally allowed her thoughts to wander. 
'I hope you are safe, Harmon,' she inwardly sighed, longing to see him, to 
feel his presence, to have his kind eyes scrutinize her expression like they 
often did. 'When this is over I shall never again leave your side,' she 
silently vowed. 'My mind, my voice and my heart...' were her final thoughts 
when she drifted off to sleep.


In the shelter of a dark, moonless night, a dozen ships, each carrying about 
a hundred trained soldiers, were silently crossing the Irish Sea. Harmon and 
Clayton stood at the bowsprit of King Edward's flagship, closely observing 
their pilot's instructions and passing them on to the helmsman. Ever since 
they had met with Robinson, Harmon had been sick with worry for his love. 
Having heard of the siege, he - and Clayton, too, albeit secretly - had been 
praying that the ladies and the priest had gotten home safely and had 
managed to stay outside the castle.

Harmon's whole demeanor had changed with the arrival of the news. Normally, 
he was known by his men as a fearless warrior with an incredible readiness 
of mind and coolness of temper. He would be the one man never to lose his 
head in a desperate situation. But now, he was pacing up and down with an 
ashen face, fidgeting with his hands and over and over checking the 
hourglass. It wasn't long until rumors were spreading that a woman might be 
involved. Had the situation not been so deadly earnest, Harmon would have 
met with quite a few smirking faces.

Hearing footsteps behind them, Harmon and Clayton turned to find their king 
standing before them. They instantly bowed. "Sire..."

"Rise, my friends." King Edward kindly smiled at his young knights. "How 
much further?"

"Approximately a hundred yards until we can bring down the tenders, sire," 
Clayton answered, motioning for the sailor on signaling duty.

"Proceed. Umm... Sir Harmon?" he turned to the tall, dark-haired man he had 
come to like very much during the last few years that Harmon had been 
serving in his army.

"Sire?"

The king took a few steps away from the bowsprit. Harmon followed 
immediately as was expected of him. "You puzzle me, Sir Harmon," the king 
began.

"How so, sire?" Harmon's glance was suddenly guarded.

"I've never seen you in a state of mind as this," the king went on, eyeing 
him thoroughly.

"I apologize, sire. I shall focus on the mission."

King Edward smiled knowingly. "What is your mission, Sir Harmon?"

Harmon warily pondered his reply. 'Sarah!' was the first thing that came to 
his mind. "Leinster, Your Majesty," he said instead.

"Are you sure?"

"Umm... I..." Harmon was at a loss what to answer. He desperately sought for 
words but didn't come up with anything that made sense. The king spared him 
an answer, though.

"I was wondering what could be the reason for your odd behavior, Sir Harmon. 
I was lost as to the cause until I realized it did not start until we met 
with the pilot. So, seeing that Mr. Robinson chose to stay on this ship and 
let his brother do the piloting, I asked if he knew something. I guess I 
have a clue now."

Harmon gulped, still not knowing what to say but dreading the outcome of the 
situation. The king would surely consider him unfit for command if he were 
this easily shaken. He jumped when he heard the king go on.

"As you said, try to focus on the mission. But, generally speaking, you know 
my opinion of single men at your age. And the Lord of Leinster does need a 
wife. So she is Scottish, is she?" he asked.

Harmon studied his feet, appreciating that in the darkness the king would 
not see him blush. Then, knowing he had to look at his sovereign when 
addressing him, he forced himself to meet his glance and nodded. "She is, 
sire."

"Please, enlighten me a little about her, Sir Harmon. You know I need to 
approve your choice."

Taking a deep breath, Harmon carefully weighed his choice of words. Now the 
matter was getting irreversibly serious. "She is a widow, sire, of Scottish 
and Irish blood. She has no living children, though. Her mother's family are 
the Barons O'Hara, trusted counselors of the Marshall family for centuries. 
Her father's family is the clan of Mackenzie. She grew up in Scotland and 
was married to Lord Christopher Ragle. I know he fought against your troops 
with Wallace, but I doubt one could deduce from that any adversity regarding 
the crown on Sarah's side."

The last sentence came out in a worried rush. The king suppressed a smile at 
his knight's eagerness to defend the one he had come to love. 'I am curious 
to know the one woman that could produce an effect as this on his heart,' he 
thought. "I am sure you cannot, Sir Harmon," he tried to reassure the 
younger man. "And now I understand your behavior. I assume you would like to 
assemble a vanguard and head to Baron O'Hara's assistance on horseback 
rather than leading the army on foot?"

Harmon cast his king a grateful smile and got down on one knee. "I am 
infinitely indebted to Your Majesty."

King Edward now let his smile break through. "Rise, my faithful servant. Go 
and assemble your men."

'My heart, my voice and my mind...' Harmon kept thinking as he rushed to 
speak with his most faithful friends.


Dawn was crawling up the horizon when Sarah, Aine and Father Chegwidden 
started to carefully climb the slope. They had hidden their horses and 
belongings a little farther off in the thicket, just in case anyone came 
across the clearing. They had taken nothing but a small water barrel each, 
tied to their backs, in case they might indeed be able to get to the castle, 
and a single torch.

When they reached the hilltop, the sun was rising and Sarah was able to look 
around and quickly find the stone slab she had stumbled over the previous 
night. It was large and heavy, but in three, they eventually managed to 
shove it away. Holding their breath, they gaped at a square black opening 
that went down vertically for about three yards. From there - as far as they 
could make out - a slightly descending passage opened up in the direction of 
the castle.

Father Chegwidden looked at Aine who, being the shortest, would go in first. 
"Are you sure about this, Miss O'Meara?"

"I am."

"Then off you go." He took a firm hold on her arms as he helped her get 
down. Then, upon her nod, he let go of her and she dropped to the ground.

"I am safe. Please, father, hand me the torch."

He did so and climbed down himself, then stretching out his arms to help 
Sarah down. They entered the passageway, with Aine taking the lead, always 
critically observing the torch. Should it begin to flicker, they would have 
to get out or they might run short of oxygen.

They walked for what seemed like ages, ever slightly descending, never 
changing direction. Luckily, whoever had built the passage, had been so 
careful as to cover its walls and ceiling with stones. So the centuries had 
done little damage to them. After, relying on Sarah's calculation, about two 
hours of silent walking, they excitedly looked at each other as they had 
indeed arrived in front of a heavy door, shaped exactly like the ones inside 
the O'Haras's castle. It struck Sarah as odd that a hidden passage would end 
to an ordinary door. But they would soon know where they would emerge.

Pushing, they were amazed how much force they had to apply to make the door 
move. Hearing a cruel noise of heavy stone scraping on heavy stone, they 
finally managed to push it ajar - only to look into the horrified stare of 
Lady Mary O'Hara.

"Sarah!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, frozen in place.

"Aunt Mary!" Sarah cried, relieved, running over to her and hugging her 
fiercely. Only now did she notice where they were: in the family's crypt, 
accessible only through a little door at the back of the altar in the 
castle's chapel. And the door to the passage from this side was covered with 
the memorial of none other than Patrick O'Hara, the first to bear the 
baron's title. It didn't surprise Sarah that he had obviously covered the 
entrance to the secret passage, living in times of trouble. Kind of ironic, 
though, to cover a door with one's very own grave...

Mary O'Hara found solace in the absolute quiet of the family's crypt, 
especially in times of trouble like these. Now she stared at her niece, her 
steward's daughter and the friar as if they were ghosts haunting her piece 
of mind. "How? What?  But... I thought..."

"Milady, we found the secret passage everyone always suspected existed," 
Father Chegwidden explained calmly, his 'priest' tone instantly comforting 
the frightened woman. "We brought water."

"Thank you, Lord!" Mary broke out, sinking to her knees and starting to sob 
with relief. Sarah instantly knelt down and comfortingly rocked her aunt in 
her embrace until she quieted.

"We will be safer if we stay in the woods," said Aine. "Milady, I suggest we 
leave the water here for now, go back and tonight come back with further 
supplies for you. We will just leave them here and never come in. It's vital 
that no one suspects we're here. Would you..." she swallowed, "Would you 
give my love to my family, please?"

Mary had by now somewhat regained her usual composure. "Of course, my dear. 
I will speak of you only to Matthew, your parents, Bud, Harriet and Chloe. 
No one else will know you're near. We shall find a way to gradually stock up 
our supplies so that no one really notices they don't diminish as fast as 
they should. Do you have news about the king's troops?"

"If everything went well, Sir Harmon and Sir Clayton should be headed this 
way and back on Irish soil by now," Sarah explained. "It won't be long now 
that Palmer learns of their arrival. So be prepared. They might attack. You 
just have to stand your ground until the soldiers arrive. I think we'll have 
to hang on for three more days."

"I understand. Now hurry, my dear, see that you get back into the safety of 
the woods," Mary gently shooed her off.

Sarah kissed her aunt on the cheek, turned and, together with Aine and 
Father Chegwidden, disappeared into the dark tunnel. A moment later, the 
grave slab slowly moved until it fit into place.


They returned twice to the castle, usually carrying water. The first time 
they had returned, they had been greeted by a happily crying Harriet, and 
half a dozen small barrels standing beside her. And she had brought clothes 
and shoes for Sarah and Aine. Each of the three visitors took back two 
barrels. The empty barrels were easy to carry, and three of the barrels  
were returned to the castle that morning, filled with water from the well 
near their hiding place.

It was near noon when the threesome finally emerged from the passage, gladly 
taking deep breaths of fresh air. Father Chegwidden's expression was so 
comically relieved once he let out his first deep breath of woodland air, 
that a hearty laugh escaped Sarah's lips. The threesome didn't notice that 
four men were standing at the far end of the hilltop, half hidden by a 
couple of bushes that were growing on the spot, silently watching their 
every move.


Harmon only took five additional men with him. The fewer they were the 
quicker they would get to the castle. They couldn't outnumber Palmer's army 
anyway, so a few truly reliable friends would be of more use than a small 
squadron of soldiers. Besides Clayton, Harmon had convinced four more 
knights to accompany him. They were their round table's companions Sir 
Magnus McDermott and Sir Tobias Cullum, and their two closest friends, Sir 
John "Jack" Keeter and Sir Sturgis Turner, probably the only black man to 
serve in the king's whole army. He had originally been a prisoner, brought 
home from a crusade to the Holy Land. But on the way back he had been so 
lucky as to save the king's life. So, the Moor had been released and had 
earned himself the king's and his knights' trust with his calm reasoning. 
When he, later on, decided to convert himself to be a Christian, an old 
knight, Sir Walter Turner, had gladly volunteered to be his godfather and 
had even passed his name on to him.

The six men rode all day and night and half of the next day until Harmon and 
Clayton believed them to be near the O'Hara castle. They left the road and 
entered the woods.

Harmon was by now half-dead with fear of what he would find once they 
arrived. He dreaded the moment but, on the other hand, he needed to know the 
exact situation. So he had insisted they leave the horses with Magnus and 
Tobias. The other four of them would go look for a viewing point. Jack had 
pointed out a hilltop not too far away and they had immediately set off.

Upon reaching the top, they had stopped dead in their tracks, as on the far 
side of the little meadow that graced the hill, a cloaked figure suddenly 
seemed to emerge from the earth. Under his or her cloak the person seemed to 
carry something. Quietly motioning for his friends to stay behind the nearby 
bushes, Harmon observed as a second person appeared on stage, then a third, 
a rather short one.

The three people seemed unaware they were being watched. Suddenly, totally 
unexpected to him, Harmon's ears caught something that he would never have 
expected to hear right now: the merry laugh of Lady Sarah Mackenzie. 
Forgetting all his caution over the tremendous relief to see her safe and 
free, Harmon rushed out of their hideout.

"Sarah!"

Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She spun around, gasped as she saw Harmon 
standing on the meadow, dropped her cloak and luggage and, not caring if 
anyone might find her behavior unbecoming a mourning noblewoman, rushed over 
to him and threw herself into his open arms.

"Harmon..."

"When I heard the news I thought I'd be too late..." he whispered.

"And I was constantly praying that your landing plans would work..." she 
replied softly.

He held her tight, overwhelmed to feel her so close. For several minutes 
they just stood there, holding onto each other, the other five tactfully 
waiting until they parted.

"How far away is the army?" Sarah instantly asked.

"They should be here in two days. How's the situation?" His kind eyes 
skimmed her face.

"They ran short of water, but luckily I literally stumbled over the entrance 
to a long forgotten secret passage that leads to the castle's crypt. We've 
been supplying them ever since we found it. Nice of you to join us.  Now you 
can give us a hand, and more importantly, you brought some unknown faces 
with you who can unobtrusively get solid supplies from the marketplace."

Harmon motioned for his friends to come over as did Sarah. Clayton greeted 
them warmly, especially Aine, Harmon noted with a hidden smile. Then he 
introduced all of them to Sir John and Sir Sturgis. Together, they 
immediately went to join Magnus and Tobias and set up a joint camp between 
the two slopes. Magnus, John and Tobias took turns going to buy food, while 
the others would continuously walk up and down the passage supplying the 
castle. They took turns on night watches and sleeping hours as well. Harmon 
and Sarah by a general silent agreement always walked together, and no one 
would do anything but smile when they saw them sleeping, Harmon's arms 
protectively wrapped around his love.

Keeping up a steady routine, they could do nothing but wait until the royal 
troops arrived. On the evening before the royal army was due, Harmon, 
stepping out of the passageway, detected movement in Palmer's camps. 
Obviously they were preparing for a night attack. And they were doing it 
fast, he judged after having watched them for several minutes. Still, all 
the preparations took place at the far side of the camp that was difficult 
to overlook from the castle.

Looking at Sarah and seeing her nod slowly, they were well aware of the risk 
they were taking when they just put down the empty barrels they were 
carrying and reentered the passageway. They had to warn the castle's 
inhabitants. And they had to stand up at their side. They were Sarah's 
family - and probably Harmon's family-to-be. Running as fast as they could, 
the pair headed back towards the castle.

The battle was about to begin.

__________


Harmon knew that their presence would be disclosed now but they had no 
choice. Still, the others did not know how many of them were outside the 
castle. This fact was kind of a comfort to them as he and Sarah, after 
having run for nearly an hour and a half through the hidden passage, stormed 
upstairs, leaving startled servants staring after them and finally entering 
the great hall.

"Set up your defenses!" Harmon shouted, panting, without so much as a 
greeting. "Palmer is preparing to attack!"

A stifled cry from Chloe was quickly followed by Baron O'Hara's calm voice 
swiftly giving orders to everyone. He and Aine's father seemed to have 
prepared their defenses well because everyone at once hurried to their 
positions, none seeming lost or panicking.

The dining hall was beginning to fill with women and children while the men 
hurried outside and manned the fortified walls. Boys and elder men were 
supplying them with bows and arrows and ammunition for the small catapults 
that had been erected on several crucial spots of the fortifications. A 
constant guard was placed in the high main tower. The baron was personally 
overseeing the preparations, assigning Harmon and Bud to command different 
parts of their defense action. Harmon was to take the side overlooking the 
Barrow, from where most of Palmer's activities could be expected. Bud was to 
cover the rear of the castle, making sure to prevent any surprise attack 
while everyone would be engaged in the fighting in front.

Finally resolving that they had done everything in their power, Matthew 
stepped up to Harmon, sighing. "You know that we won't last long against 
those troops," he said quietly.

Harmon openly returned his glance. "No, we won't," he acknowledged. "But we 
might just last long enough for the royal troops to arrive. We have to try." 
'Or die trying,' he silently added. Matthew only nodded and absentmindedly 
patted Harmon's shoulder as he  went away.

Up from a window, Sarah had followed the exchange. It disturbed her 
immensely that she wasn't allowed to go down and take an active part in the 
castle's defense but women weren't supposed to. So she would just help 
keeping the children quiet and the women occupied, praying that Harmon and 
her family would be all right.

As if he felt her gaze on him, Harmon glanced up and saw her standing at the 
window. Both starting at the very same moment, they silently exchanged their 
now familiar signals, causing each other to smile.

'My heart, my voice and my mind...'

'My mind, my voice and my heart...'

It was then that the first flaming arrow buzzed through the night, falling 
harmlessly onto the court's dirt floor. Moments later, all hell broke loose.


Aine had started worrying long since. It wasn't like Sarah and Harmon not to 
join them once they got back. Certainly, she was sure the two of them craved 
some time alone with each other. But they would never seek it in a situation 
as this. Finally, she couldn't stand the tension any more and started to 
climb up the slope. Clayton, instantly understanding what she was up to, 
followed her.

"Oh my God..." was all he heard her say when he arrived on the hilltop. 
Looking over to the castle he knew they had no chance. Still, he longed to 
join Harmon inside the castle. He would not let his childhood friend die 
without having at least tried to save him.

"Aine," he began, neither of the two noticing his lack of formalities, "Go 
and join the others. Tell Jack, Sturgis and Magnus to bring our swords and 
join me here. You go with Father Chegwidden and Tobias. Try to locate the 
king's troops and have them come to the rescue without resting for the 
night. They might even arrive at dawn if you make haste."

Aine acknowledged with a nod and turned to climb down.

"Aine..."

She stopped and turned back to face him. "Sir?"

Clayton had no clue why he was doing this but he felt he simply had to. 
Closing the distance, he cupped her face with his hands and placed a quick, 
but tender kiss on her lips. "Be safe."

She swallowed, her usual self-confidence wavering for the first time. "You, 
too," she said in a low voice, holding his glance for a moment before 
hurrying to execute his orders.


Sarah felt she was slowly going crazy. She had been observing every single 
move of the battle that by now had been raging for over six hours. Soon the 
sun would rise and she dreaded what she would see. Their men had fought 
bravely and stood their ground amazingly long, but slowly their defenses 
were crumbling. It wouldn't be long until Palmer's troops would have access 
to the castle.

She had not been able to see Harmon for quite some time and she was craving 
to know what had become of him - be it good or bad news. The uncertainty was 
killing her. Just then, an uproar came from the far side of the castle. 
'They got in,' Sarah thought, defeated, but not beaten. 'So be it. But they 
will see me fight before I die.'

A moment later a group of eight men stormed into the great hall quickly 
forming a defense line in front of the deadly scared women and children, 
their swords drawn. Matthew, Bud, Harmon, Sturgis, Jack, Magnus, Clayton and 
Sean O'Meara had left their stations as soon as was clear that their 
defenses no longer held. At least they would try and defend their families 
now. Sarah was immensely relieved to find Harmon alive and seemingly 
uninjured. Although she knew that in all likelihood neither of them would 
survive the next two hours, she felt an odd comfort that at least they would 
die together. Stepping over near to where he was, she tried to make her 
presence give him strength. Harmon acknowledged with a quick half-smile in 
her direction, grateful she was there.

All became aware that the castle had grown deadly quiet by now. Many of the 
women and children held their breath, dread and panic distorting their faces 
that seemed frozen as they now detected footsteps of several men nearing the 
hall. The knights took a firm hold on their drawn swords. And then they saw 
him. Smiling viciously, Clark Palmer, self-declared Lord of Leinster, 
insufferably slowly walked up to them, coming to a halt eye to eye with 
Matthew.

"So we meet again, O'Hara," he opened the conversation, still smiling, 
having motioned for his men to stand back. "Only this time I'll make sure it 
will be the last time we do." With that, he slapped him, his stare 
challenging the elder man.

Matthew stepped forward, preparing for the fight. He was astonished that 
Palmer seemed to be up to playing the honorable knight by choosing a 
man-to-man swordfight. But, on the other hand, Matthew was well aware that 
Palmer was by far in a better state than he was. Matthew's chances for a 
victory were small.

"You can have me, Palmer," he said calmly. "But leave my family and people 
in peace."

'No, uncle!' Sarah wanted to scream. 'Surrender is not an option! You always 
told me that! Now stick to it!'

"I have you anyway, O'Hara," Palmer retorted coldly. "I'll leave it to my 
men what they like to do with the ladies. Your men will be executed at noon. 
Now step forward, you old coward."

Matthew took a few steps into the middle of the room, determined to at least 
end his life honorably, when someone suddenly spoke up loud and clear.

"Leave him alone, Palmer!"

The aggressor spun around to see a tall man unknown to him slowly walk in 
his direction, sword drawn. He snorted. "So he's too weak even to defend his 
own family?"

Harmon came to a halt a few feet away from Palmer, facing him with a deadly 
calm stare. "No. He would defend them honorably. It's just that he isn't the 
enemy you're after."

Everyone but Clayton and Sarah was staring at Harmon, wondering what he was 
implying.

"I appreciate your help, Sir Harmon," Matthew cut in with a slight, sad 
smile, "But let us just get it over with. It is indeed me he came to seek 
out."

Harmon flashed him back an odd excusing half-smile. "With all due respect, 
baron, I don't think so. Although our visitor does not know yet." Turning 
back to face Palmer, Harmon squared his shoulders. "Baron Palmer," he went 
on, noticing with satisfaction how the use and stress of his former title 
enraged the unlawful lord, "I stand up to claim my lands and rightful title 
that you unlawfully appropriated by extinguishing my family."

Stifled gasps could be heard throughout the hall as Harmon's words sank in. 
Palmer narrowed his eyes on the tall nobleman. "Who the devil are you?" he 
asked sharply.

"Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance, grandson of Maude Isobel Marshall and rightful 
heir to the Leinster lands." With that, Harmon took off a ring that he had 
been wearing and tossed it over to Palmer who studied the coat of arms 
displayed on it. Visibly fighting to keep his rage in check, Palmer then 
glared at Harmon.

"So be it, Marshall!" he spat. Matthew cleared the way as Harmon now took 
his place and prepared to accomplish what he had set off for from England.

Slowly circling around each other, Harmon and Palmer waited for their 
opponent to attack. Suddenly Palmer made a lunge that Harmon parried and 
turned into a counterattack. Within no time their fight became deadly 
earnest, one lunge following the other, strike meeting strike, thrust 
answering thrust, one first chasing the other only to be chased in return. 
Their skills were matched, Palmer being more aggressive, but less guarded, 
too, which suited Harmon's calm demeanor of parrying the attacks and waiting 
for his chance.

Sarah was watching the scene with growing horror. She couldn't bear to see 
him put his life on the line for the lives of all of them. And for the 
freedom of his lands. But she understood that he had to finish this alone. 
All of a sudden, she detected a subtle movement from the corner of her eye. 
One of Palmer's men kept slowly shifting his position, undoubtedly to get in 
Harmon's way. Sarah frantically began to contemplate a way to warn him. But 
it was already too late. Taking a jump backwards in order to escape one of 
Palmer's thrusts, Harmon tripped over the outstretched leg of the cheater 
and fell to his back, dropping his sword.

Palmer was instantly hovering over him, his sword pointed to Harmon's 
throat, grinning evilly. "There goes the heir of Leinster," he commented 
dryly.

This was Sarah's breaking point. With a cry of utmost rage she flung herself 
at Palmer, creating the two seconds of distraction that Harmon needed to get 
to his feet and grab his sword. Palmer spun around to get rid of his 
attacker, cruelly throwing her to the ground. A searing pain shot through 
her left arm as her wrist broke when she landed on it. But she ignored it, 
glad to have saved her knight's life, at least for the time being.

Sarah had sort of opened the battle for general engagement and Palmer's men 
outnumbered the little group of knights. Harmon felt blood trickle into his 
right eye from a gash on his temple, blurring his vision. Swearing under his 
breath, he tried to focus on what his left eye saw. Slowly, the bravely 
fighting knights were being cornered by the aggressors. Everyone in the room 
knew that they were fighting a losing battle, as suddenly at least two 
dozens of other men stormed into the room, immediately taking the O'Haras' 
side. In a mere ten minutes, it was all over. King Edward had arrived just 
in time.

While the royal fighters took control of the situation, Harmon and Palmer 
were still fighting their deadly duel. No one thought about interfering. As 
long as both swordsmen observed the code of honor, they had to face each 
other on their own. From the corner of his eye Palmer became aware that the 
king himself had entered the hall. This was the last time he was distracted. 
Harmon placed a quick lunge and disarmed and injured his opponent, the 
sudden pain causing Palmer to drop to the ground.

Panting heavily, Harmon now pointed his own sword to Palmer's throat. 
Everyone was waiting for the final move but Harmon instead, with a quick 
movement of his head, motioned for two of the knights to come over and take 
the aggressor in custody.

"You aren't even worth killing," Harmon hissed, staring into Palmer's face 
that showed nothing but fury, close to insanity. Harmon pulled back his 
sword and ran over to Sarah who had drawn herself up into a half sitting 
position, pressing her broken wrist to her chest, obviously hurting badly 
but smiling all the same.

"Thank God..." she only sobbed.

Harmon let her lean back into his embrace as he knelt down behind her. 
"Thanks to you, milady," he answered softly, gently stroking her hair. "From 
now on my life is entirely in your hands."

Matthew cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Then I suggest you secure 
him, my niece," he ventured with a mischievous smirk and an uplifted 
eyebrow, "If Your Majesty consents, that is," he added, turning and bowing 
before King Edward.

"I do," came the simple reply. "People, welcome your new sovereign, Lord 
Harmon Rabb of Penzance and Leinster, and his lady-to-be."

Harmon gently supported Sarah as they both struggled to kneel before their 
king. Instead of telling them to get up, King Edward placed his hands on 
Sarah and Harmon's heads and started to look around. "Didn't I see a 
Franciscan friar somewhere?" he asked...



Present time
1218 ZULU
Mac's apartment
Georgetown, D.C.



Searing pain gradually made its way into Mac's conscious, finally causing 
her to wake up. To her utmost astonishment, she found herself on the floor 
next to her bed, her left arm numb if it weren't for the pain that generated 
from her oddly twisted wrist. 'Damn,' Mac thought. 'Only I could manage to 
fall out of bed and break my wrist by falling onto it.'

Falling onto it... Instantly the events of her dream came back to her mind. 
If her arm hadn't hurt so much she would have laughed about the fact that 
she had been able to insert into her dream world even something as real as 
an injury. Silently swearing, she got up, cleaned up and dressed best as she 
could with only one hand and, having to skip breakfast, left her apartment 
to have her wrist examined at the nearby hospital before going to work. She 
would feel too ridiculous if she had to call to excuse herself for being 
late. 'I broke my wrist falling out of my bed...'



1402 ZULU
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA



Luckily there wasn't a staff meeting today. As Mac waited for the elevator 
doors to open, she was very grateful that if she had to be injured in a 
dream, at least it was on a day with no morning appointments.

As she exited the elevator Mac let her eyes exercise a quick sweep of the 
room, noting that everyone was busy and not looking up. Maybe she could 
avoid questions about her plaster cast for a little while... Her breath 
caught in her throat as she saw her partner standing at the far end of the 
bullpen, gaping at her with just the same incredulous expression that was 
right now mirrored on her own face. Mac closed her eyes, quickly shook her 
head and looked again. No, what she had first seen hadn't been an illusion. 
Harm had a gauze bandage attached to his right temple and was right now 
staring at her left arm.

Then, still unnoticed by their coworkers, their gazes locked again across 
the room. Harm's face displayed an expression somewhere in between utmost 
surprise, disbelief, awe and fear as he, seemingly in slow motion, lifted 
his right hand first to his heart, then to his lips, then to his temple and, 
fist closed, finally to his left shoulder, inclining his head, never 
breaking the eye contact. And Mac saw his eyes nearly pop out of their holes 
as she, trembling violently, touched her temple, her lips and her heart and 
finally held her hand out to him, palm up. Time froze. They just stared, 
unable to comprehend what was happening.

Tiner saved them as he noticed Mac standing at the elevator. "Attention on 
deck!"

Mac instantly emerged from her daze, called a quick "Good morning. At ease!" 
into the room and quickly crossed the bullpen. "Commander Rabb! In my 
office!" she ordered, causing everyone to jump and wonder what the commander 
might have done this time to upset the colonel in such a way.

Harm shook himself from his paralysis and instantly followed her into her 
office. She slammed the door shut and closed the blinds. Then the two of 
them just stood facing each other, much closer to one another than they 
would normally dare to stand, looking into each other's eyes with an 
expression of frightened wonder, unsure what to do or say.

"Hurt much?" Harm finally asked, shyly indicating her plaster cast.

"Uhm... no, not too much, thanks. You?" Mac nervously tucked a strand of 
hair behind her ear.

"Nah... I fell out of bed, you know..." he let his voice trail off.

"Me too."

Silence.

"Mac, I..."

"Harm, I..."

They had spoken simultaneously.

"You first..."

"You first..."

Again.

What the hell! Harm took a deep breath and closed the distance, gathering 
his Marine into a tight embrace and instantly feeling her body mold against 
his in silent agreement. Never daring to search eye contact, he mumbled: 
"What now?"

"Dunno." Her voice was muffled by his uniform jacket.

"Mac, what if..." He breathed to steady his racing heart, "What if we 
decided to... make our dream count?"

Her grip on his left sleeve tightened slightly and he heard her stifle an 
audible gasp. She pulled back slightly and forced him to meet her glance. 
"Harm, are you sure about the consequences?"

"I'm sure about you and me. If we manage to keep it quiet for a while we'll 
find a solution for the rest." His voice was just a little hoarse.

Mac closed her eyes against the suddenly threatening tears, smiling. If 
anyone had told her this morning that this would be the glorious day that 
Harmon Rabb, Jr. let go of his fear and opened up to her she would have 
laughed in their face. His next words managed to completely crack her 
composure.

"I love you, Lady Sarah," he said softly, brushing a shy kiss to her lips.

Now her tears were flowing but she just let them. "I love you, too, milord."



Same time
Clayton Webb's office
CIA Headquarters
Langley, VA



For the first time in decades Clayton Webb didn't dare to touch his morning 
coffee. His secretary had all but fainted when he had asked for a mug of 
chamomile infusion instead. Clay had woken in the morning, sweating 
profusely, his heart racing as if he had just crossed the finish line of a 
marathon. Then images of the strangest of dreams had begun haunting him, 
especially of a petite dark-haired woman with light-blue eyes that held a 
challenging sparkle, and with a few freckles on her nose.

He knew he had never met someone who looked like her. Yet she hadn't been 
the blurred creation of a dream. Far from it. He had seen and memorized her 
features. He would recognize her anywhere. He shook his head. Maybe all this 
spook stuff was finally getting the better of him.

The telephone stirred him up from his musings.

"Webb."

"Mr. Clayton Webb? Good morning, this is Aine O'Meara, Irish embassy, 
intelligence department. We fear we might have a situation concerning IRA 
involvement in possible attacks..."

Her voice. Her name. Her. Clay didn't really understand what she was trying 
to tell him but he didn't mind.

"Uhm... Miss O'Meara," he cut in, trying to sound calm. "I think we'd do 
better discussing the matter personally. Even secure phone lines 
occasionally grow ears. How about meeting at the Washington memorial in an 
hour?"

"Okay..." She sounded a little surprised but didn't seem to mind. "How will 
I know you, Mr. Webb?"

Clay smiled to himself. "Don't worry. I will know you."



THE END