Kathleen, Mother’s maid, reached down and stripped the blanket off him. He grabbed at it, but it was gone. Then she stood over him, hands on hips, stirring him with her foot. ‘Everyone’s gone ’cept you, an’ I’ve got the room to fix.’ James sat up, combing through his hair with his fingers. He looked over to the guest room and saw the open door. He nodded towards it. ‘Where is he?’Kathleen followed his look. ‘Milord O’Neill’s down with Sir Malachy.’James remembered his night’s torments. I must stop thinking of him as ‘Uncle Hugh’, he told himself. He’s Hugh O’Neill, the Earl of Tyrone, and no blood relation of mine! I am a de Cashel and we are Normans. We belong with the English. The sooner we break with O’Neill and the native Irish the better. He strode over to the water bucket and found it empty. ‘Where’s my water, Kathleen?’ he demanded. ‘I gave it to you a moment ago!’ she sniggered.James kicked angrily at the heavy wooden bucket, hurt his toe, and had to limp for the door.
