The Hart and the Harp Read online

  The Hart and the Harp

  Sorcha MacMurrough

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Reviews

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Author's Note

  More Titles by Author

  INTRODUCTION

  Ireland, 1146

  Shive MacDermot and Tiernan O’Hara agree to wed to end a five-year feud between their clans which had been provoked by the murder of her brother.

  Though an unlikely alliance at first, Shive begins to fall in love with her new husband. She soon realises her brother's killer was never Tiernan, but a member of her own clan. How can she win Tiernan’s love and prove to him she is not the enemy?

  Shive undertakes an epic struggle to save her lands and Tiernan’s from the ambitious Muireadach O’Rourke, determined to kill anyone who opposes his bid to become high-king of all Ireland.

  Will she prove worthy of Tiernan? Or will he believe that she has betrayed him, and become her enemy himself?

  REVIEWS

  Shive MacDermot knows that marriage to Tiernan O'Hara could end the five-year feud her father has waged on the O'Hara clan, but she is equally sure her father would never agree to such a match, especially since he claims Tiernan murdered Shive's brother. When Uistean gives the go-ahead, Shive is surprised and relieved at the thought of ending the bloody feud. Not likely, as it turns out. Uistean still wants to exact revenge on Tiernan and the O'Haras, even at the expense of his daughter, for whom he cares very little.

  Tiernan and Shive marry, and she sets out to win her new husband's respect, and hopefully his affection. She begins to organize his home and lands, and earns the admiration of all those in the O'Hara clan, but her husband's trust remains elusive.

  Shive soon realizes her new husband could never have murdered his best friend, and with dawning horror, also realizes the murderer must have been someone from her own clan.

  Guilt and a sense of responsibility overtake her, and in an effort to right the wrongs done to Tiernan for the past five years, she embarks on a campaign to save him from her crazed father.

  More dangerous to Tiernan and the O'Hara clan, however, is the menacing Muireadach O'Rourke, who will stop at nothing in his quest to become the ruler of Ireland. Tiernan and his clan are standing in his way, and Shive is determined to save Tiernan, even if it means losing his love forever.

  THE HART AND THE HARP is an action packed, plot-driven novel filled with adventure and danger. Although Shive and Tiernan are the main characters, Shive is clearly at the forefront -- a brave, intelligent woman with a fierce heart and loads of courage.

  Tiernan is the weaker of the two and at times I found myself wondering why Tiernan was her "ideal" mate. There is almost a role reversal in this story line, which I find both intriguing and refreshing. With such intensity in its plot lines, there is little need to focus on other characters, although the development of the secondary characters is well done.

  THE HART AND THE HARP is not for the faint of heart -- but it will please those looking for a rollicking adventure and a bigger than life heroine.

  Astrid Kinn

  Romance Reviews Today

  Enormously Entertaining

  This is another fantastically clever romantic suspense novel from this prolific and talented writer. From the first sentence we are plunged into the world of twelfth-century Irish power politics in which nothing is as it seems. The marriage of convenience has been done before, but never quite as sensually as this.

  I admire the hero enormously for his courage, fortitude and obvious love for the heroine despite all the difficulties they must face in learning to trust one another. His stubborn pride does keep them apart, but Shive the heroine too has reasons of her own for avoiding admitting she loves Tiernan body and soul. This novel shows that where there is true love, it will find a way. Exuberant and joyous, it is a thoroughly enjoyable read.

  - Evelyn Trimborn

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sorcha MacMurrough is a multi-published author from Ireland who has taught English literature and English and Irish history. She has lived all over the UK and Ireland, including London, Edinburgh, and Dublin. Her favorite cities to live in or visit are Bath and York. She loves old houses, castles and estates and can usually be found touring these locales to help make all of her settings come alive for her readers. Sorcha loves the Regency period and the Napoleonic era in particular, which form the beginning of the modern world as we know it.

  Her novels have been chosen as monthly "Top Picks" by Romantic Times, and she has also been nominated for a Reviewer's Choice award for best novel of the year by Romantic Times. When she is not writing, researching and teaching, she cooks, knits Aran sweaters, and enjoys spending time with her large family. She loves Irish dancing and music, and beachcombing on the shores of Donegal, Sligo and Galway.

  Copyright 1998, 2002, 2004

  Fourth edition with additional material, 2008

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13:978-1-58345-030-7

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  PROLOGUE

  “Since my young days of passion-joy or pain

  Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string-

  And both may ja
r.”

  Lord Byron, Childe Harold, III.

  The West of Ireland, 1140

  The wild boar thundered through the undergrowth, heading straight for the tall lanky young man. He blinked in disbelief. He had been so sure his first arrow had killed it. But he could see now that it had merely struck the beast a glancing blow. Blood ran down its shoulder in small rivulets. It was squealing so loudly the sound was almost deafening.

  Infuriated by its pain, the boar rushed forward, so close that the hunter could feel its hot breath on his face. Bringing up his dagger, he managed to slash open the boar’s throat and windpipe with a desperate thrust and twist of the knife. The dead animal collapsed upon him, pinning him down with its huge weight, which threatened to crush the very air from his lungs.

  He drew as deep a breath as he could manage in order to call for help. A twig snapping nearby heralded the arrival of his companion, who now stood surveying the blood-bespattered young man with a glint of amusement in his narrow eyes.

  “Don’t just stand there, get this carcass off me!” the hunter wheezed.

  “'Tis a fine beast. A pity it didn’t kill you. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have suited my purposes at all if it had.”

  The second man towered over the hunter menacingly now. Tugging an unusually ornate jeweled dagger out of its scabbard, he raised both hands, and brought it down with a violent stabbing motion.

  The young man struggled desperately to get out of the way, or at least ward off the blow. His eyes widened with terror and astonishment as the dagger descended inexorably. He shrieked in agony as it cleft his heart in twain.

  He gasped, “Why! In the name of God, how could you!” as his own blood began to well up through his mouth and gushed all over his chest in a crimson fountain.

  “I’m sorry, lad, truly. You’re simply in my way. The wheels have been set in motion. We shall just have to see where they take me, once you’re no longer an obstacle.”

  As his life’s blood emptied out of him, the young hunter declared with his last breath, “You’ll pay for this one day. I swear on my own grave.”

  “No doubt I shan’t be going to Heaven, Fiachra. But not to worry. I always did imagine living for all eternity with choirs of angels singing would be rather dull,” his murderer drawled. “I have no doubts that you shall go there though. That should delight you. You’ve always declared the afterlife to be a better place than this world. You always were a bit too fanatical. You’ve become a stumbling block, lad. A danger to me which I simply have to be rid of.”

  Fiachra struggled futilely against death for a few more seconds. But at last his head fell back, and with his last dying breath he cursed the man who had brought him to such an end.

  When he was certain the young man was dead, his assailant dragged the boar’s corpse off him, and tugged it a small distance away, further into the woods. Then he smoothed over the dirt trail which he had left from dragging the heavy swine. He checked to make certain he had left no trace of his presence behind. He surveyed the scene once more with an expert eye.

  Aye, his scheme would work, he thought with great satisfaction. It had all been so easy. The lad had gone to his death like a lamb to the slaughter. And while he himself knew that appearances were often deceptive, this looked convincing enough for his purposes.

  Once the young hunter’s corpse was found, he would effectively have killed two birds with one dagger. He chuckled to himself at the apt simile as he circled the area one last time, then headed for home quickly. He had slipped out of his room through his secret passage, but there was no telling when someone might come looking for him on important business, and a trip to the privy only took so long.

  He ran back home through the woods, almost skipping in his delight. He had set the wheel of fortune in motion now. Even as poor Fiachra and his friends would spin downwards towards their own ruin, so he would rise to the very top of the wheel. And once at the top, he would do anything, anything, to stay there.

  Chapter One

  “Marry Tiernan O’Hara,” Shive MacDermot gasped. “Ruairi, you can’t be in earnest! Even if I were to agree to your proposal for the sake of the clan, Father would never allow it. How could he sit by and sanction the marriage of his only daughter to his son’s murderer?”

  Ruairi sighed deeply, and pulled one of the wooden chairs closer to the roaring fire to sit beside his lovely auburn-haired young cousin. “Shive, the case against Tiernan was never proven. At any rate, surely you can see the wisdom of the match. This feud between your father and Tiernan has gone on for five years now, at the loss of countless lives. The cost has been too high for both families."

  "I know, but-"

  Ruairi ignored the interruption. "Since I find I’m being forced more and more into a position where I shall have to choose between your clans one day for the sake of attaining peace in this region at last, I would rather settle this right now. I have no wish to be maneuvered into destroying one clan for the benefit of the opposing one. This feud must end before both clans end up decimating one another, and I’m left with no one loyal to support me in my bid for the high kingship of Ireland.”

  Shive rose to pace up and down her workchamber in her castle for a few moments, stroking the soft sheepskin of the jerkin she wore for warmth over her dark blue woolen gown as she moved about the room restlessly. A new fall of snow just starting outside the horn-covered window caught her eye. She sat down heavily on a settle within the window embrasure, and gestured for her dashing cousin, tall and agile, with brown hair and bright green eyes, to join her there.

  She opened the window wide in a futile attempt to ease the suddenly stifling atmosphere of her chamber. They gazed out at the blinding whiteness in silence for several moments.

  Finally Shive asked, “But why should I be the one who pays the price of that peace? I understand your longing to be ard ri , and would support you tomorrow if I could, but surely there must be other ways of securing the title of high king for yourself without giving me to Tiernan O’Hara in marriage.

  “I see the need for dynastic unions, even if I don’t necessarily approve of the custom. I'm not so naive as to think that everyone in the world can wed for love. Certainly not people of our social standing. But how can you honestly expect me to marry a man who has every reason to hate me and all I represent? As I should hate him? It would be a disaster for both clans.”

  Ruairi shook his head. “I've spoken to Tiernan already about the match, and--”

  Shive’s violet eyes widened, and she stood abruptly, once more resuming her frantic pacing. “You asked him without even consulting with me to see whether I would indeed be amenable?” she raged, tossing her long mane of lush burgundy hair over her shoulder.

  “Shive, please, calm yourself and hear my side of things before you condemn me out of hand for my arrogant ways,” Ruairi commanded, pulling his cousin back down to sit beside him.

  “I’m listening, Ruairi.” Her eyes flashed a challenge to the brown-clad warrior. “Persuade me. After all, you’ll have to be prepared to face down my father if you’re really intent upon this match. He will be a far harder nut to crack than I could ever be.”

  “You always were susceptible to my masculine charms, little coz,” Ruairi teased, before stroking gently the wrist he still held.

  Sobering, he began to spell out his arguments for her clearly and succinctly. “Shive, you know as well as I that no one could ever have damaged the friendship Tiernan and your brother had for one another until that fatal day five years ago when Tiernan’s dagger was found buried in Fiachra’s heart. You cannot remember it as clearly as I do. You were but thirteen--”

  “I remember it as though it were yesterday,” Shive said, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears as she stared unseeingly out of the window.

  “Of course you do,” Ruairi corrected himself hastily before pressing on. “A clever man like Tiernan would never have allowed his dagger to be left behind as a sign of his guilt, not even if he had r
eally killed your brother in a fit of passion over some imagined insult as many have suggested. Moreover, Fiachra was always the more impetuous of the two. Hotheaded, always taking sudden fancies. I can recall that just before he died he did nothing but talk of entering a monastery.”

  Shive toyed with a stray dark blue thread on the sleeve of her thick woolen gown. “Are you saying that Fiachra might have picked a quarrel with Tiernan, and Tiernan was merely defending himself?”