The Secret Rose Read Free

or two he usually doled out.
    It was her mother who concerned her. Timid, frail of health, and heavy with her third child in five years, Kathleen Fitzgerald spent most of her time in bed in the hopes that she would not lose or give birth to yet another stillborn son. If she heard them arguing, she would try to intervene; and when Quenton had drink in him, there was no guessing what he would do.
    Quenton took a deep, calming breath. A beating was not what he had in mind when he sent for Aisleen. The idea had come to him as he rode home from Dublin. Over the years he had seen the sudden wariness in her eyes when he came upon his daughter in solitude. He did not know why it had not occurred to him before. She withheld some secret from him. If there was the slightest chance Aisleen possessed the Fitzgerald “gift,” then he must not allow anger to prevent him from benefiting from it.
    He brought all the force of his gaze to bear on her even as he lowered his voice to its most charming and persuasive best. “These last three hundred years and more, we Irish have flourished despite the English. We’ve dodged their laws when we could, defied them when possible. Ye know the reason why the Fitzgeralds survived with more than most. Ye’ve heard the stories.
    “Yer family triumphed over their enemies because they had the blood of the Daoine sidhe in their veins. Meghan was the first to bear the mark of the rose. Then there was Deirdre, yer ancestor who fought to bring Liscarrol back to the Fitzgeralds. She, too, had the mark.
    “Now there’s ye. The proof is there on yer hip, lass, the mark that proclaims ye to be the guardian of the ‘gift’.”
    He leaned in close to her, excitement animating his expression. “The English devils are hard upon us. They’ve squeezed ’til there’s nothing left. The taxes come due next month, and they’ll be taking Liscarrol if there’s nae money to give them. Ye must help us, daughter. Ye must use yer power, the power of the Sidhe , to save yer da from debtors’ prison and Liscarrol from the English!”
    As he gazed at her expectantly, Aisleen began to quake. From the moment she was old enough to understand, she had known the legend behind the rose-shaped birthmark on her right hip. The legend had been treated lightly by her mother, the birthmark seen as a good-luck charm rather than as an omen of absolute belief in ancient ways. Oh, she had pretended with bouchal that she was someone special, but there was never any proof.
    Tears of helplessness filled her eyes as her father stood before her, watching and waiting. She had no magic at her disposal. Would he believe her? “I’ve no magic power, Da. I cannot help you.”
    “Cannot or will not?” Quenton countered. He struck the chairback with his fist, and the blow made Aisleen recoil a step “Aye, so ye fear something, do ye?”
    He withdrew a sheaf of papers from his pocket “The days of Fitzgerald ownership of Liscarrol will come to an end when I’ve affixed me name to these. The damned English demand taxes only a leprechaun’s pot o’ gold could pay! But then, ye’d nae be knowing of such things, would ye?”
    He tossed the papers on the carpet. “If ye will nae willingly help me, then I must make another use of ye. Aye, and with the Gilliams’ help.”
    “Ye hate the Gilliams!” Aisleen answered, forgetting the danger in which she stood.
    “Aye, they’re English landlords and Protestant into the bargain, but they’ve one thing I’ve a fondness for, and that’s gold, lass.” He nodded. “Aye, they’re willing to pay well for Liscarrol.”
    “You’d not sell our heritage to the English for a few coins?” Aisleen asked in disbelief. Liscarrol had been a Fitzgerald stronghold since the days of the Normans. The loss of it was unthinkable.
    Quenton saw the horror in her face, and his resolve momentarily weakened. “Ye’ll nae blame me for what’s to come! The mark and the burden of the rose is on ye! It came down