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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Alaina's Promise
Copyright © 2007 by Meg Allison
ISBN: 1-59998-254-4
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2007
Alaina's Promise
Meg Allison
This story is dedicated to members of the Critiquing Bee, both past and present---for all they taught me along the way;
To Mel and June Frederick, for always believing in me;
To Steve---for never asking why I needed to write;
And to those ancestors who blessed me with an Irish soul. Slainte.
Aveleen Plantation, Virginia
March, 1870
The cold stillness of the house wrapped around Alaina, chilling her to the bone. She drew in a deep breath as she reached for the banister and climbed the curved staircase.
Her father was dying.
She froze midway up the steps, knuckles white as she gripped the smooth wood in an effort to still shaking fingers. Fear snaked around her heart and reached down further into her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut as she fought to dispel the panic. It would do no good for him to see her like this.
"Be strong," she commanded herself aloud.
Alaina grasped at the inner strength she had forged from years of trial---years spent rebuilding a world that had crumbled around her. Then she continued upward though each step stabbed at her heart.
The echoes of laughter, music, quiet whispers and chiding reproofs seemed to reverberate in the empty halls. Voices of the master, his family and the slaves, dinner bells and calls to arm---all combined in a gentle yet penetrating hum that haunted the plantation house.
Shaking her head to banish the ghosts, she turned to the right at the top of the landing. With quiet steps she passed several doors until she reached the one at the end of the hall.
Alaina took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak door. Within the dim chamber a small fire glowed in the hearth, the only other light came from the row of four windows facing east.
The windows were shaded, the heavy flowered draperies drawn together to cover the panes. A gathering storm had darkened the sky until only the faintest glow seeped through the material. For a moment, she stood in the doorway as her gaze adjusted to the gloom. The acrid smell of wood smoke mingled with alcohol and illness, stinging her nostrils as she drew in a breath. Her eyes burned.
"Alaina, love," her father's weakened voice called from across the room. "Come here, child."
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a faint click. As she crossed the room to his bed, she felt a sense of dread rising within but managed to feign a smile. She hid her shaking hands in the deep folds of her red calico dress.
Alaina couldn't let him see her fear. He must feel at peace in his final hours.
"I'm here." She sank down on the large bed beside him. "There's a storm coming. Do you want me to open the window a bit so you can hear the thunder?"
He always loved a good rain since it reminded him of his homeland. She rose but he grasped her hand in his and drew her back to the bed.
"No, darlin'," he murmured. She could see him more clearly now as firelight danced on the tears in his eyes. "Sit here a minute first. I want to have a good look at you."
Try as she might, Alaina could not meet his gaze, but only stared at the hand which held hers. She remembered his hands as they had been when she was still a little girl. They had always seemed so large and strong to her. When he had held her small hand in his, she had felt as if nothing in the world could ever hurt her. Now, the same hands were thin and frail. War had taken its toll.
"I'm not sorry, love," he said as she glanced up into his tear-stained face. "I've lived long enough. I'm content to move on. My only regret is leavin' you. If only I knew you would not be alone."
She shushed him and pressed her lips to his hand before she rose to walk to the window. As she pulled open the curtains, a soft, greenish-gray light poured into the room. She pushed open the sash. A breeze sweet with lilac, honeysuckle and the smell of spring rain rushed inside. Thunder echoed against the surrounding trees. It drew ever closer, the wind picking up force.
"How's that?" she asked with a smile. "A nice downpour, just what the Irishman ordered."
He patted the bed. "Come back to me, sweet Alaina. There are many things that need to be said---things you need to know."
Without hesitation she obeyed, and waited. Tears burned in her throat. For a moment, his mind seemed to wander as he stared past her to the churning sky.
"I always loved the rain," he murmured. "I'd go out in my old fishin' boat and a storm would swirl across the sky. Michael O'Brien thought I was daft. 'Get you to shore, Patrick!' he'd scold, like a mother hen squawkin' away.
"But I'd go further out to the islands instead. Ah, so peaceful they were! The storm would rage and bellow around me but I felt safe there in the shelter of some old castle or in Boru's cottage. Then, when the sun broke through the next morn or sometimes by the light of the full moon, I'd sail home again. The cliffs risin' above me---so powerful, so comfortin'.
"They'll stand there forever. Long after we've gone from this old earth, the Cliffs of Moher will rise up from the sea. They'd guide me home and I'd walk upon them again, dreamin' of faraway places where my feet itched to travel. I could almost see those shores in the distance."
He sighed and Alaina felt her heart twist from the pain in that small sound. "Now, I'm lookin' back the other way, Alaina. Lookin' back and regrettin'."
The flicker in his tired eyes came from long ago, when his young heart dreamed of travel and his soul embraced a wanderlust Alaina envied. Patrick focused once more in the present as his gaze rested on her.
"You have been the greatest blessing of my life, sweet Alaina. God blessed me many times, but when you came into this world, the angels sang as never before."
She shook her head, fighting the tears that threatened to pour down her cheeks. "Really, you'll have me canonized soon if you go on like that."
"Ah, inion―daughter―I have better things in mind for you than sainthood." Patrick struggled against the pillows.
"Please stop, Daddy! Don't move around so."
"I'm all right. As long as I'm alive, I'll move this tired body all I can. Lass, there's some things I need settled before 'tis too late. I've a lot to ask and you've got to be patient and listen 'til the end. Understand?"
She nodded.
"I want to go home to Ireland. 'Tis where my heart stayed when I left. I want my body to rest there as well."
Alaina squeezed her eyes shut for moment, swallowing back the pain. "But Daddy, it's such a long voyage."
"I don't care, darlin'," he said. "'Tis been arranged, and I want you to accompany me."
She stared at him in shock. "But, what if...?"
"Then they'll give me a proper burial at sea, but I'm a stubborn man, Alaina. I won't be kickin' up my heels 'til I've made my peace with the world."
"Daddy, are you sure?" she asked, heartsick worry almost choking the breath from her.
"Yes, I'm sure. I still have friends there. I need to say goodbye, do you understand? I need this, darlin'. Promise you'll take me home."
He stared at her, his expression so earnest, so hopeful that she could do little else but agree. "All right, Daddy. We'll go home again."
"Good, and we'll be leaving as soon as possible. I'll take no more chances, lass. There are few left to take."
The resounding thunder seemed to agree.
\*
Galway Bay, Ireland
May, 1870
Relief washed over her. She'd kept her promise and brought her father home.
The voyage had been a difficult one. Many a night, she'd been sure he wouldn't last another hour as he lay there in bed, retching up what little food he'd eaten as wave upon wave rocked the ship. Yet, the closer they drew to the waters of Ireland, the stronger her father seemed to become. Hope, Alaina knew, kept him alive.
She stared into the heavy mist as the Northern Star skimmed across the water toward the mouth of Galway Bay, her gaze focused on the hazy shoreline some miles off the starboard side. The round, metal rail felt cold beneath her fingers. The crisp air rustled through the folds of her traveling dress, and pulled at the loose tendrils of her hair as it whipped across her cheeks.
She watched the shadowy outline of the shore become sharper, more distinct, until land burst up from the foaming sea before her. Her fingers tightened around the rail, her heart pounding in time with the waves that crashed against the base of the sheer cliffs.
Free. This is where I belong.
A crewman hurried by, breaking the spell. She turned and held a hand up to stop him. "Are these the Cliffs of Moher?" she asked.
"No, Miss, this here's one of the Aran Islands," he replied. "You'll be seein' Ireland herself once we pass them."
She thanked him and he scurried away. The image of her father in his healthier, younger days came to mind. She could see his pale blue eyes, glistening with longing as he spoke of the islands on which he'd sought refuge during storms.
Alaina always found it difficult to picture Patrick Ryan with his long legs tucked up inside a small fishing boat, the sea breeze brushing through his thick red hair. He had always been such a vibrant, energetic person---his spirit sparked like a fire trying to break free of the hearth. But now he seemed just a shell of a man, almost as if he'd already passed on.
With that thought, the pain returned. It crept up like a cloud covering the sun. Alaina pushed it away, blinking back tears. Her hands ached from the death grip with which they held the railing. She must be strong. He'd made it this far and that had to mean something.
"Miss Alaina?"
She jumped, spinning about toward the deep voice.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you." The captain's weathered features were creased with a slight smile. "I wanted to let you know that your things are all on deck. Antonio and the other men will take everything to the dock once we've secured the ship."
"Thank you, Captain Marshall," she said. "All of you have been so kind and patient with us. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough."
He shook his head. "It's the least I could do for Patrick and his girl."
"I know my brother will be very relieved to hear how well we've been treated."
The man raised both hands in protest. "It's no more than a lady as yourself deserves, Miss Alaina. I hope your father's health improves once he's on land."
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and attempted a smile. She knew it fell short.
"I'd best be on my way," he said with a bow of his head. "Take care, Miss."
"Godspeed, Captain."
Alone again, she turned back to the sea. A small tremor of fear coursed through her body but she straightened her shoulders. She could do what had to be done. She must.
Watching the sun rise higher above the dark, sapphire waters, she took in a slow deep breath of sea air. The morning light burned away the remnant of cool vapor as they cleared the islands, and she saw her destination along the western shore where sheer stone jutted up from the ocean and reached for the sky.
"You're home, Daddy," she whispered. It was a pity he couldn't enjoy his homecoming more.
They were just as he had described---the Cliffs of Moher. Alaina felt the flutter of anticipation in her breast. Her first promise had been fulfilled, but the second made after their journey had begun would be more difficult. If she had only known the devious plans made by her father and his old friend, Michael O'Brien, she might have refused his request to accompany him home. If she'd known what he expected of her, hoped for her, she might have convinced her brother to do his bidding instead.
The ship's steward appeared at her side and Alaina dragged her gaze from the view. His smile had become a welcome sight over the past three weeks.
"Señorita Ryan, is there anything you need before we dock? One of the men is bringing your father above deck now." His dark eyes studied her intently. Alaina, at five feet nine inches, could look most men square in the eye if she had the desire to do so. Fear caused her to avoid such attention instead. Yet the young steward's kindness during the voyage across the Atlantic had given her reason to trust him more than she trusted any man but her father.
"No, thank you, Antonio," she replied, her mouth curving into a heartfelt smile. "I wanted to thank you kindly for all you have done for us. You made this voyage much more pleasant than it might have been."
"Ah, Señorita," Antonio exclaimed. "It has been my pleasure. Señor Ryan is a good friend and I am proud to have served him and his daughter.
"Please, if you will excuse me now, I must return to my post."
Watching him walk away, Alaina wondered anew how she could keep her other promise. It took over a week of patient, careful attention before Antonio had been able to approach her without igniting the fear which hovered just beneath the surface. If her father knew of the terror that dwelt there, he might not have insisted on this journey. But he didn't and could never, ever know. It would break his heart and Alaina would rather die than see him hurt again.
She turned to the ocean as a small fishing boat slipped noiselessly through the water. A lone gull swooped overhead, its dispirited call swallowed by the sound of waves rushing beneath the hull of the ship. Heart aching as she stared up at the bird, she wondered how everything about her seemed to echo the lonely emptiness of her soul.
A glance over her shoulder made her stomach flip as she caught sight of a dark, stocky man staring in her direction. Him again. Over the last two weeks she had overcome the seasickness that plagued her since leaving Virginia and had ventured on deck frequently. Many times she found this particular man watching her.
At first Alaina had chided herself for such foolish imaginings, but eventually his attentions became unmistakable. She thought of mentioning it to either the captain or Antonio. Yet she didn't want to cause trouble. Perhaps he only found her attractive and meant no harm. Rudeness, after all, was not a crime. So she had said nothing, but avoided him and kept close to the steward or other passengers outside her cabin.
The small deck became a blur of activity as the shoreline drew ever closer. Alaina could see the pier in detail and she watched the figures move about it. Several fishermen unloaded their catch at one end. Three brawny men hauled a stack of wooden crates from another vessel to the pier at the other. As she watched their progress, she noticed a man standing motionless near the cargo.
He stood at least a head taller than the others on the dock. His dark hair glinted with red like strands of copper caught in the sunlight. A black coat emphasized the breadth of his broad chest and shoulders as he stood, feet apart, staring at the vessel with his hands pushed deep into the pockets.
Sunlight and shadow played off his strong, handsome features. Alaina's heart fluttered like a bird caught in a snare. She blinked. The very air around the stranger seemed to vibrate with energy.
A sudden chill coursed down her spine, her shoulders stiffening beneath the heavy material of her cloak. Was he staring at her? She swallowed hard and gave her head a quick shake. It must be her imagination.
"Alaina?"
She jerked her head around at the sound of her father's voice. He smiled a little as he gazed up at her from his wheelchair. His skin looked thin and pale, his brow creased from years of worry. Would his old friends even recognize him?
"Are you ready, darlin'?"
Alaina bit her lip to keep it from trembling and glanced back at the dock. This constant unease never left her at peace, even so far from where it all began.
"Yes, everything is prepared, daddy." Her gaze moved over the pier and she sighed in relief. The man had vanished. "You'll soon be back on Irish soil."
\*
As Alaina stood on the dock beside their trunks and bags, she hoped she at least looked more confident than she felt at that moment. Antonio turned on the gangplank and lifted a hand to her in salute. She fought the sudden urge to run back up to the steward and beg him to take them home again.
But she had come this far. She'd spent the past few years learning to walk alone, to take care of herself and others. She could do this for her father.
Alaina turned her back to the steamer and looked around. "Well, Daddy, do you think anyone will meet us? I suppose we could hire a carriage."
The murmur of voices drifted on the air. A sudden, thundering male voice rose above the gentle hum. She jumped and shrunk back against the trunks for a moment as she squeezed the handgrips of her father's chair.
"What's all the commotion?" he asked, squinting against the glare of the morning sun.
"I-I don't know. But we'd best stay far from it."
Others stopped to watch the burly, red-faced seaman near the cargo ship. He waved his arms about, shouting at another man who had caused several crates to topple and break. Alaina didn't recognize the words being thundered across the dock.
"Is he cursing?" she asked.
Her father chuckled softly and coughed. "Just as well your mother never let me teach you much Irish. Aye, he's turning the air quite blue."
"You must excuse him."
Alaina spun around. Her heart sank. The rude seaman from the Northern Star, the one who had kept staring at her throughout their voyage, stood only a foot away. His size intimidated her even more on such close inspection.
"I said, you must excuse MacDonald's foul tongue, Miss." The man smiled, but his eyes remained cold like blue chips of ice. "I couldn't help but notice that you and the old man be alone here in Ballyvaughn. I should like to offer my services."
She stared at him, fighting against the terror that tried to snake around her. A sudden surge of strength welled up, beating the serpent into submission and she clung to feeling with all her might.
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer," she replied. "We have not been properly introduced."
A look of surprise flitted over the man's features. The disdain in her tone had not gone unnoticed. He bowed his dark head.
"Pardon," he murmured. But when he met her gaze again, Alaina balked at the anger she saw there. He took a step closer. "The name is Doogan, Nicholas Doogan."
The yelling at the end of the pier escalated into a brawl. Alaina glanced around. The fight had everyone's attention but her father, and he could do little if this man forced himself upon them.
"If you'll excuse me, I was just about to hire a carriage," she said.
"There's no need, lass." He stepped closer still. Alaina backed up against her trunks, letting go her hold of the chair. "I can take care of you."
"Young man, I think you'd best move on." Patrick tried to stand, but fell back into the chair.
Alaina's anger overpowered her sense of propriety. She had taken care of herself and her family for over five years. How dare any man try and take advantage of her now?
"You will do nothing of the sort, sir," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I have arrangements to make."
He didn't move, but stood smiling down at her.
Alaina frowned. "You will move immediately or I shall scream as if the demons of hell were upon me."
His smile vanished as his mouth gaped wide. Alaina congratulated herself on the calm of her tone.
"Is there a problem, Miss Ryan?"
She turned to the source of the deep Irish voice, and gasped. The tall man in the black coat from the pier stood beside them, his gaze fixed on the seaman. Anger sparked around him like a living thing. Had he called her by name?
"No ... this ... gentleman was offering his assistance and I-I told him that it wasn't necessary." The air drained from her lungs as the Irishman shifted his gaze to hers. His eyes echoed the grayish green depths of the bay. She swallowed. "He was just leaving."
His gaze moved back to Doogan and Alaina thought she saw a flicker of fear pass over the seaman's ruddy face.
"I heard you were coming home again," the Irishman drawled. "'Tis a shame to start your visit by accosting the first young woman with the misfortune of crossing your path."
Alaina stared from one to the other. The men seemed well acquainted.
"Come now, Irish, you're getting your dander up over nothing." Doogan smiled. His gaze slid to Alaina and she forced herself not to flinch. "The lass and the old man here be alone and 'twas only my Christian duty to offer protection."
"Mr. Ryan and his daughter are not alone, and 'tis sure I am that Christian duty was the last thing on your mind." Anger rumbled beneath the deep timbre of his voice. The air around them seemed to crackle.
"Aye, and you'd be knowing that all too well, Irish, wouldn't you now?" Doogan snarled.
Alaina suddenly wondered which of the two men posed a bigger threat---the obvious knave or the gallant knight charging to the rescue. Instinctively she trusted the Irishman. Yet hard-learned lessons had taught that trust was a luxury she could ill afford.
"See here, lads," her father interjected as he tried to intervene. "There's no need to be fightin', is there now?"
Doogan grinned suddenly and held both hands up in defeat.
"Sorry, old man. You're right. 'Tis sure, Irish, you be the victor again." He lowered his hands and squinted up at the other man. "But we Doogans are full of fight, don't you know? 'Tis the Scot in us. We'll meet another day. You might not be so lucky then. Someday 'twill be something I'll fight you for." He turned to Alaina and nodded. "No offense, lass." Doogan turned and sauntered toward the cargo ship.
She noticed the dockside brawl there had ended. The burly MacDonald sat nursing a bloody nose while others carried the second man's limp body away toward the village. Alaina shook her head, staring at the scene in disbelief. Her rescuer cleared his throat so that she turned to him.
"Not a good first impression I'm afraid," he said with small smile. "I promise, Miss Ryan, Ireland is not such a heathen place as the men on this dock make it seem."
She tilted her head slightly, curiosity and fear warring with one another. How did the Irishman know who they were? Could he have been sent as an escort?
"Just what sort of place is Ireland, Mr...?"
"O'Brien. Torin O'Brien."
Alaina felt her stomach lurch. Oh, God in Heaven, it was him. For some reason she had never considered that he would meet them himself. The man her father hoped, no, expected her to marry. The man to whom she had been betrothed years before her birth.
"You...you're..." The words wouldn't come.
"Aye, I'm Maggie's son." He stared at her a moment, then focused on Patrick and held out a hand. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ryan. I've heard much of you over the years."
Her father smiled as he grasped the man's large hand in his own. "Torin---I should have known. You're the spittin' image of your da. But you've grown a bit since last I saw you."
Alaina fought to calm her racing heart as the men shook hands. Torin's rich chuckle vibrated around her. It was him. She couldn't do this. Her hands shook as if she had the palsy and the air seemed suddenly thin.
"Aye, sir that I have. 'Tis been nigh on thirty years," Torin said as he glanced in her direction. "I'm glad to finally meet you again, and your lovely daughter."
Patrick's face beamed with approval. She hadn't seen him so delighted in months. What a pity she couldn't enjoy the banter as well. Alaina's face burned with humiliation as the men stared at her. If she had only known, perhaps she could have prepared better.
"Where are my manners?" Patrick straightened in his chair and reached a hand out to her. She grasped his fingers, hoping he wouldn't notice how she trembled. "Torin O'Brien, this is my daughter, Alaina Marie Ryan." His watery blue gaze moved between them. "This meetin' has been a long time comin', but I'm glad 'tis finally here."
She glanced up and away again as panic raced through her blood. Torin must be the most handsome man she'd ever met, but it meant nothing. Despite her father's grand plans, it would never work. She trusted no man outside her own family.
The silenced stretched between them as her father watched with a deepening frown. Finally, Alaina held out her hand and offered a small, civil smile. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. O'Brien."
His firm touch lasted only a moment before he pulled away, but not before the sensation of his warmth seeped through her soft gloves. Alaina's breath caught in her throat and her gaze flew to his and held. He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen.
"The pleasure is mine," Torin murmured. When he turned from them she felt an inexplicable sense of regret. He gestured at the road parallel to the dock. "I'll just bring the carriage around and we can be on our way. 'Tis a long ride back to Doolin."
"Aye, I remember it well, lad," Patrick replied. "Very well, indeed."
Torin tied their trunks to the back of the wagon and situated the older man in the bed, wrapped up in blankets per the lady's insistence with the wheeled chair secure at the opposite end. She watched while he worked, her hands twisted together as she kept herself at arm's length.
When he turned to Alaina with a forced smile, Torin offered to help her onto the front bench seat. She hesitated before placing her black-gloved hand in his and he felt it tremble within his grasp. Why did she fear him so? He glanced at his hand to make sure it was clean and frowned as she seemed to avoid his gaze.
"Is everything all right, Miss Ryan?"
She nodded and looked down at him with a small smile. "Yes, thank you. I-I'm just a little tired. You said it's a long trip to your mother's home?"
He nodded. "Aye, 'twill be almost dark before we're there. Mum asked me to stop in Ballyvaughn first. I hope you don't mind. 'Tis market day and I'm to do her shopping."
"Market day?" Alaina's sudden smile held genuine excitement. Its warmth stole his breath away. "Oh, that does sound most intriguing. But I'm not sure my father is well enough for such an excursion."
"Don't be daft, inion," Patrick insisted from his nest behind her. "I'm fine. Feelin' better already, thanks to bein' on solid ground again. Take your time, lad, and be about your business. We're in no hurry."
Torin moved away from the young woman and rounded the carriage where he took his position in the driver's seat. But he felt her warmth beside him. The scent of sweet roses filled the air, and seemed to caress his senses like silk-smooth hands on a warm summer night.
With a jerk, he pulled himself upright, back ramrod straight as he flicked the reins against the mare's rump. No, he would not give in to such wandering thoughts. They could only lead to places to which he had sworn never to return. That vow would not be broken for a soft, spoiled piece of fluff no doubt used to luxury and being catered to on every whim. The sweet lilt in her voice did not matter, nor did the perplexing mixture of fear and strength he glimpsed in her large, dark eyes. They came from such different worlds, despite the fact that their fathers were once as close as any two brothers.
The horse drew the carriage into the small fishing village. He glanced at his passenger and couldn't help but smile at the look of joy on her face. Her beauty had not been exaggerated in Ryan's letters.
Alaina's gaze roamed over the street, taking in the throng of people and horses. Various wares were displayed in buggies, wagons and in the back of handcarts. Voices filled the air with a persistent hum. The pungent smell of fish and the musky sweet odor of unwashed bodies lingered in the air.
She turned to him. It felt as if someone punched him hard in the gut. It had been a long time since anyone other than family had smiled at him so warmly. Torin forced one in return.
"There's so much to see!" she exclaimed. Then it seemed as if the sun went behind the clouds. She dropped her gaze and clenched her fingers together in her lap. "It's very busy."
Torin wondered at the sudden change. One moment she shone, the next she retreated into some dark place within. No doubt reminding herself of the differences between us---the disparity of our circumstance. He had no use for spoiled, self-centered women. As he grappled with the inner turmoil, a group of young boys darted in front of the carriage.
"Careful lads!" he shouted, pulling sharply on the reins. The boys turned in unison, their young faces filled with fright. Torin narrowed his eyes and focused on the youngest boy. "William O'Malley! Does your mother know what you're about?"
"No, sir." The boy gazed up at him with large green eyes. Then slowly he looked over at Alaina. Torin repressed a smile as the lad's eyes grew even wider.
"You be an angel?" the child asked.
Alaina stared for a moment, frowning as if deciphering a foreign tongue. "Why no, I'm not," she finally answered with an apologetic smile. Young William seemed completely undeterred.
"You be as pretty as one!" He smiled and scampered off after his friends. She stared after him.
Torin watched Alaina tilt her head to one side. He couldn't tear his gaze away when she glanced at him. God, but she truly was a beauty. Something feral and warm stirred deep within.
"The lad has good judgment," he murmured. Wariness returned to her dark eyes. He felt her shrink away from him. Torin swung around and urged the mare along the busy thoroughfare until he maneuvered the carriage alongside a hitching post.
"The shopping shouldn't take long," he said as he climbed from the rig and secured the reins. He held a hand up to her. "Will you be joining me, Miss Ryan?"
Alaina gazed down at him with a frown as she bit her lip. Torin suddenly wondered if his past reputation had somehow preceded him to the Ryan plantation. No, old Patrick would have kept his girl safe and sound and far out reach of the likes of him. He would never have brought her to Ireland had he known. Guilt tore at him like a double-edged knife.
"I'm not sure I should leave my father---" she began.
"Nonsense!" Ryan exclaimed from behind her. "Go on and take in the sights. Never met a lass yet that didn't enjoy shopping. I am sure the lad could use your help. I'll be fine on my own. There's plenty to keep this old man occupied."
The worry in her eyes told Torin she wasn't convinced. He reached out again. "I'd very much appreciate your company, Miss Ryan, if you'd be granting it?"
She closed her eyes for a moment. He watched as her dark lashes swept down over the curve of her cheeks. Then she looked him in the eye. "Of course, Mr. O'Brien. I'd be honored if you'd escort me. We won't be long, Daddy." She leaned over and brushed a kiss on the old man's forehead. Then Torin felt her fingers trembling within his grasp as she once more took his offered help.
It annoyed him that she seemed so afraid. He sighed as she landed lightly beside him. Perhaps she had good cause. It wasn't often a young woman met her betrothed.
\*
Alaina let him tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. She felt the outline of strong, defined muscle beneath the layers of fabric between them. An odd sensation washed over her and she kept her gaze focused on the ground as her face flooded with heat.
They walked along the street, stepping around puddles of mud and piles of manure. Holding his arm with one hand, Alaina lifted the edges of her skirts above the filth. She wrinkled her nose at the stench and tried not to breathe too deeply.
People filled the market place, brushing against her. She moved closer to Torin's side and instinctively clutched at his arm. The strength of the muscle beneath her fingertips made her feel safe at the moment, though part of her still quaked at his nearness. The warmth of his presence bolstered her sagging courage even while her heart leapt at thought of how little she knew the man. But she knew it was necessary to grant Torin O'Brien at least some of her trust---if only to honor her father. After all, they were in a street filled with people. Even if her father's judgment proved faulty, what could possibly happen?
"There's a cart up this way, a man I do business with often. We'll go there first," Torin said, his voice reaching down to her above the tumult of cackling chickens and the calls from vendors.
Alaina nodded and took a step forward. She shrieked when he suddenly jerked her sideways as a man reeking of stale whiskey ran into her and almost knocked her off her feet. Without Torin's quick action, she knew she would have ended up sprawled in the mud.
"Madainn mhath," the man said, offering her a smiling view of rotten teeth. He tipped his grimy cap, then seemed to realize she hadn't understood.
"Good mornin'," he repeated in English, leaning closer. His thick accent slurred the words. Alaina jerked back from the force of his rancid breath. Torin's other hand covered hers.
Alaina nodded once at the drunk and was relieved when the man smiled again before he staggered away.
"Are you all right?"
She looked up into Torin's green eyes and swallowed as she fought the nervous tremors that washed over her. Something in his look made her entire body flood with heat. She swallowed hard and pulled away from the warmth of his strong torso.
"Yes, thanks to you," she said as his gaze searched her upturned face. He nodded, his mouth set in a grim line.
They moved along and Alaina admonished herself to let go of the fear. There could be little amiss at this point. He had, after all, saved her from a painful collision. At least he had good manners, and that was an asset sorely lacking in the world. She tried to concentrate on the sights and sounds instead of the man at her side, and felt the tension ebb as the pleasant sound of Gaelic surrounded her.
They reached the fishmonger's cart. Alaina wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of the haddock and salmon lying bare under the early morning sun. Flies hovered and darted around the silver fish.
Torin spoke to the fisherman, his deep resonant voice washing over her, comforting. It reminded her of her father. Patrick Ryan had spoken Gaelic in moments of tenderness as well as anger, but his voice sounded much different from Torin O'Brien's rich baritone.
The fisherman glanced at her, curiosity evident on his unshaven face and in his dark eyes. She took an instinctive step backwards at the man's attention. The smell of tobacco lingered on his clothing. The familiar odor brought unwanted memories with it. Alaina felt as if something slithered across her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself.
The fish vendor said something in Gaelic that made Torin hesitate, his color heightening above the collar of his coat. Lowering his voice, Torin leaned toward the other man and spoke near his ear. The fisherman smiled and chuckled. With a shake of his head, he scooped up a large salmon and wrapped it neatly in paper before handing it to Torin.
Alaina glanced away, avoiding the fisherman's leering gaze and knowing smile. She wondered what the men had said, sure that they were talking about her. It was one thing to live in fear, quite another to do so in foreign land without the comfort of friends or a knowledge of the language.
"Miss Ryan?"
She looked up at Torin then, noting the questioning look in his eyes. She realized that she had been frowning.
"Yes?" she asked, forcing a bright note into her voice that she did not feel.
"If you're seeing anything to your liking, please let me know." He held her gaze, and she thought a bit of sorrow lingered there. But then it was gone.
"Of course," she replied as she forced her lips into a smile and looked away.
Less than half an hour later, he led her back to the carriage, his arms full of parcels. She stayed close enough to smell the turf smoke on his coat, but the lack of physical contact made their proximity a bit more bearable. When they reached the rig, they found her father snoring peacefully in his cocoon.
After storing everything beneath the bench, Torin held out his hand. Alaina drew in a deep breath and placed her hand in his, still avoiding his gaze. He boosted her up onto the seat and she realized how at ease she had been with him in the market. Without thought, she had quite easily allowed his touch.
Soon he sat beside her, clucking at the mare as he flicked the animal gently with the reins. Alaina glanced at him while the carriage bounced down the narrow street.
"Thank you for a lovely morning, Mr. O'Brien."
He turned his head and smiled a little. Alaina could sense the unease behind his pleasant manner. She saw a flicker of doubt in the deep green of his gaze.
"'Tis my pleasure, Miss Ryan."
\*
She watched the village pass as they ventured into the countryside. A surge of panic washed over her as civilization disappeared behind them. Here she sat, at the mercy of a stranger much bigger and stronger than herself. While her spirit whispered peace, her mind filled with the echo of past horrors. Each memory brought a tingle of fear until her heart raced.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Alaina forced the panic aside long enough to pray for calm and strength. A warm feeling washed over her, soothing her. The air slowly drained from her lungs. She opened her eyes. The sky seemed brighter somehow. In her heart she knew that there was no cause for alarm. Mr. O'Brien could be trusted.
Her thoughts drifted back to the fisherman. Soon curiosity overruled proper manners. "What did he say?"
Torin jerked a little and flashed a wary glance in her direction. "Pardon, who do you mean?"
"The fisherman---the first one you bought the salmon from. I couldn't understand what he said and..." Alaina hesitated. "He seemed to be talking about me and then you, well, you appeared a bit...embarrassed..." her voice trailed off and she sat, staring at her hands as she fervently wished she had kept her curiosity in check.
Torin cleared his throat and flicked the reins. "The old man thought he had seen you with me before. I assured him 'twas your first visit to Ireland."
She noticed the rigid set of his jaw, the wash of dusky pink over his cheeks. Why did something so innocent bother him? Alaina glanced away and sought for something more to say, but she couldn't help but think he was lying to her.
\*
Torin silently cursed the fisherman even as he thanked God the man couldn't speak enough English to save his soul. The old man's soul would need immediate redemption if he ever dared say such a thing about Alaina in his presence again.
Now he owed penance for lying, but that would come later. A lie was little to ask of him if it protected her innocent ears from such a filthy insinuation. She may be a spoiled rich girl, but hadn't the fool merchant been able to tell she was as pure as a babe? No, it was because of Torin's past and reputation, the other man had assumed she was an expensive whore. He pushed the thought away. She need never know what the fisherman had said. He'd lie a hundred times more to keep such things from her.
He shifted uncomfortably as he felt the heat of her beside him. It made him want to force old Mavis into a trot---the quicker they got home, the better.
Torin glanced at Alaina's profile and his chest constricted as it had when he'd first seen her across the pier. He knew they both felt it. There was some undeniable connection between them. He saw it in the depths of her eyes when she first looked up at him. He saw it in the way her cheeks blossomed as red as a summer rose when he spoke. Yet, he felt her fear. It hovered around her as much as the warm scent that filled his nostrils. Why did the touch of his hand make her tremble so?
It took great effort, but he kept his gaze averted as the mare pulled them along the rutted path. His usual ability to converse had fled. It had happened the moment she laid her small hand in his. His thoughts turned to a jumbled mess when she gripped his arm, her fingers fluttering like a butterfly on his sleeve.
Beauty...yes, she had that blessing as any fool could see. But there seemed to be something below the surface that beckoned to him through those wide, dark eyes. It pulled at his heart and reached further into his being, grasping at his very soul.
He shifted on the bench, jumping back when his knee brushed against hers. Torin tried to apologize, but his throat felt as dry as the land they crossed.
"Pardon."
He winced. The word sounded more like a growl than an apology.
This had not been a good idea. He should never have agreed to meet the young woman and take her to his mother. What a blessing that she hadn't been alone. But somehow the presence of Patrick Ryan snoring away in the wagon bed did little to create the buffer he needed on this long journey.
He glanced sideways. She seemed as uncomfortable as he felt, sitting stiff and erect, her eyes straight ahead and hands clasped in her lap. Perhaps that could be a good sign. If she felt just as awkward, then maybe she hadn't come to Ireland expecting more than he could give. His gaze shifted to her face. She moved and Torin glanced ahead, snapping the reins against the horses' flank. The mare snorted in protest.
"Sorry, old girl," he murmured.
The silence between them began to rub against his raw nerves. His body ached from the hours of travel the previous day. He hadn't slept more than a few hours a night since Patrick's letter had arrived a month earlier.
He took a deep breath to clear his head, but that proved to be a mistake. Her essence and sweet warmth filled his senses. It radiated around her like heat from a hearth. Torin stifled a groan of despair. He better say something, anything, before he lost control and made a fool of himself in front of her.
He sent out a silent prayer, asking for guidance, begging for strength. Then the thought came. He should just talk to her. Torin cleared his throat and Alaina jumped at the sudden sound.
"'Tis about ten miles until we reach Doolin, my mum's village." His gaze remained steady on the path ahead of them. "Her cottage is about a mile closer the way we're traveling."
"Oh," she murmured and glanced away. A frown creased her smooth brow.
He waited for the questions. But they didn't come. He sighed softly with relief. Torin was far from ready to discuss the details of this relationship their fathers had tried to force on them. Though he felt the coward for it, he chose not to approach the subject.
"I had the tavern keeper prepare us a lunch to eat along the way." He gestured behind them. "We'll stop whenever you get tired."
"Tavern?" A hint of scandal wrapped around her tone. He suppressed a surge of irritation at her apparent disapproval.
"Aye, 'tis where I stayed last night, the only place in Ballyvaughn that takes in lodgers. I knew your ship would be docking early and Mum insisted I be here the moment you arrived."
"Oh, of course," Alaina said, her gaze fastened upon her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "That was very kind of her...of you both. Thank you."
They soon passed a small limestone cottage. Sweet smelling turf smoke rose from the stone chimney. It drifted, thinning and then disappearing into the motionless spring air. A stooped, frail looking old woman stood scattering grain to a small flock of bedraggled chickens.
She lifted a hand in greeting. Her creaky voice called to them in Gaelic, a toothless smile creased her wrinkled face.
Torin nodded his head and smiled as he urged the mare to a slow walk. "Dia is Muire dhuit."
\*
Alaina wished her father had taught her the language of his homeland. She sat, feeling isolated, but smiling politely. The woman's faded blue eyes bore into her unmercifully for a moment before she finally nodded and smiled again. Somehow, Alaina knew she had been accepted.
Further along the road they came upon three cottages set near one another. They looked to have been abandoned long ago. Thatch no longer covered the roofs and the gray limestone stood cold and bare under the bright spring sun. She watched as they rolled by, wondering who had once called these dwellings home.
"These have stood empty since the last famine," Torin said. "There are many like these dotting the countryside."
She glanced at him. How had he and his family survived the devastation all those years ago? As his gaze roamed over the ruins, Alaina thought she saw a bit of pain in his eyes. An emotion passed over his face like a ripple on the water. She wanted to ask more about the blight. She remembered her father's lingering sadness for those he'd left behind and their suffering. But the look in Torin's eyes kept the words at bay. She hadn't the right to pry. They might be betrothed, but they were still strangers.
"Are there many farms in the area?" she asked instead.
"Aye, a few. Tenant farms only, though. Not like what you're used to I'm sure―much smaller. Some have a few cattle, others sheep and hens. 'Tis a hard life, farming the Burren. Not much reward in it. Most families are barely surviving."
Even as he spoke they neared a cottage where several children frolicked and played. They paused to stare at the carriage. Torin lifted a hand and called to them in Gaelic, his smile broad and warm. The children squealed with delight, waving madly before returning to their game.
Dry stone walls little higher than four feet wound their way around the cottage. Snaking up and down the pasture, they divided the land into long geometric patterns. Several heifers grazed languidly in the sweet clover. They raised their heads, large dark eyes watching the rig as it bounced and rattled along the rough terrain. Further and further they traveled as the sun climbed higher in the clear sky.
"It's so lovely!" The beauty momentarily made her forget to be more reticent. "I saw houses just like those on the islands we passed. A sailor told me they were the Aran Islands, I think."
"Aye, those would be Inisheer, Inishmaan, and Inishmore. Some say time stands still there and always will. 'Tis there and all along the coast that you can still hear Gaelic spoken. Most of the Irish have forgotten. They were forced to forget, but we haven't. Some of the old ones and even the younger children don't know English at all."
He began to tell her about the history of the islands and the villages dotting Ireland's western shores.
"This area is called boireann or The Burren---the rocky land," he said. "There aren't many trees, mostly some holly and the hawthorn, but they don't grow very big. There are a lot of flowers, as well. Mum knows them all by heart and loves to educate the rest of us. 'Tis sure she'll take you exploring if you like. She's always wandering around the cliffs and over the clints."
"Clints?"
"Aye, slabs of stone. Just watch out for cracks along the way, they can be treacherous if you aren't minding your steps."
As they rode along the bumpy path and he spoke, Alaina watched the scenery. The route they traveled crossed the great limestone clints that flowed over the land like a long forgotten cobblestone street, cracked and broken with neglect. Numerous plants took root and sprung up from the deep crevices. All around the pavements, the pastures rolled like a deep green carpet. It reached to the distant hills, which sloped up toward the horizon in stripes of green interspersed with the gray limestone. A haphazard mixture of brightly colored flowers in dark red, fuchsia, blue, yellow and white adorned the landscape.
How anything could grow and thrive in such a hard, dry place was beyond her imagination.
Torin smiled. "'Tis a marvel anything survives the boireann," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Old Cromwell's general, Ludlow, scouted the area once. I'm afraid the gentleman did not find it to his liking. He wrote, 'It was a country in which there was not enough water to drown a man, wood enough to hang him, nor earth enough to bury him, which last is so scarce that the inhabitants steal it from one another.'"
She looked at him with surprise at the trace of humor in his voice. "Doesn't that upset you? I mean, what he wrote about your homeland? And implying the people would steal dirt?"
Torin shrugged. "I love the land, Miss Ryan, but I know the truth of it. What the man wrote is quite accurate. He just failed to see beyond the obvious and enjoy the beauty. Sometimes the true worth of things is in how a man looks at them. Besides," his voice quieted and he leaned a bit closer. "That well might be why the English left our little corner alone."
Alaina gazed at him for a moment, mesmerized by the sparkle in his deep green eyes. She glanced away. He emanated strength and power, qualities she normally feared most in men. Yet, the warmth of his smile drew her like the ebbing ocean tide that pulled at the sand. She fought off the urge to follow the current and lean into him.
His deep, musical voice soon enchanted her. After a time, the words made little sense yet she couldn't help but listen to the smooth timbre of his somewhat familiar brogue. His tones were more polished than her father's and struck a chord to make her feel somewhat at ease.
Her thoughts wandered as she strove to listen to his stories of wars and famines, politics and religion. Such sadness the beautiful land held, and yet he managed to turn the horror of days gone by into an inspiring tale of hope and perseverance. In the process, he expressed a powerful love for land and country.
She glanced at him more and more. By the time they'd gone through the ghosts of the past, every detail of his profile etched itself in her mind.
Even as she admired his knowledge and education, her gaze wandered over his face. A strong, square jaw and chin spoke of strength and stubbornness. His straight nose and high cheekbones testified of noble heritage. She admired the long, thick lashes that framed his green eyes. Last of all, she noticed the laugh lines at the corners of those eyes and around his firm mouth. Despite his serious manner since their short acquaintance, they spoke of humor and echoed the laughter she had briefly glimpsed in his gaze.
The carriage bumped over a deep crevice, jostling her from the wandering thoughts. Alaina realized she had been staring. He sensed it also and turned to meet her gaze.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Ryan," he said with a smile. "I must be boring you to tears. I'm afraid I've never been very good at polite conversation. History is my love, my passion. I teach it at the state school in Dublin and do get a bit carried away."
"Oh no!" She felt guilty that he might think such a thing because of her indiscretion. "You have been the perfect companion, Mr. O'Brien. I am at fault. I do apologize for not being more attentive."
Her cheeks burned. She stared at her fingers twisted in together in her lap. As the silence lingered, Alaina couldn't resist looking up again and found him watching her, the horse all but forgotten.
"Are you feeling hungry yet, Miss Ryan?" Torin asked.
She nodded. "A little, yes."
"Good, Mum would give me a kick if I brought you all the way to Doolin without your having had a meal," he said with a wry grin. "There's a nice spot just ahead where we can stop and water the horse while we're at it. Your father might like a bit of a rest."
Torin veered off the road. Alaina watched as a shallow lake came into view. A dozen or more waterfowl swam in the greenish-gray waters, many of them taking flight upon their arrival.
"The turloughs flood in the winter, and then by the time summer is half gone, most of them are dry as bone," Torin told her as he brought the mare to a halt.
"It looks very shallow." She scanned the small body of water.
"Aye, this one is nearly dry already. There are a few that hold the water longer, and it depends on how wet a season we might be having."
After helping Alaina down, Torin unhitched the mare and led her to the water, leaving the old horse's reins loose so that she could graze while they ate. They woke Patrick and helped him to his chair so he could enjoy their picnic as well. Then Torin retrieved the basket from the carriage and spread a blanket on the grass near the water, putting the hamper on top of it. He turned Alaina with a hand held out in invitation.
"Old Mavis should be comfortable enough now," he said, nodding at the mare. "Come, let's see what's packed for us."
His eyes sparkled like the sunlight off the deep waters of Galway Bay. Alaina laid her hand in his, trembling slightly as she allowed him to help her sit down before lowering himself beside her.
While the sun shone bright, it did little to warm the chilly spring air. Alaina gathered her cloak tightly about her, nestling in its warmth as she sat on the rough blanket near her father. She watched Torin's every movement, entranced by the fluid grace with which he held himself. She envied his self-assured nature---it reminded her of her brother, Michael.
Peering into the basket, he grinned. It was such a boyish expression that she couldn't help but smile. Torin glanced up and caught her staring again. Alaina dropped her gaze. Why must she blush like a schoolgirl whenever he glanced her way?
"Cold poached salmon... hard boiled eggs... soda bread, and I do believe a generous helping of applesauce cake." Torin listed the contents with an appreciative tone. "A meal fit for kings, don't you agree, Mr. Ryan?"
"Aye, that it is," her father replied.
"If it had been just me, I'd wager O'Bannion would have thrown in yesterday's bread and some moldy cheese."
"O'Bannion?" Her father's eyes lit with curiosity. "Jack O'Bannion?"
"Aye," Torin said with a smile. "He runs the tavern in Ballyvaughn. Our meal is his handiwork. Made a fuss getting things just right when he heard you were coming home."
Patrick smiled. "I wish I'd known. I'd like to see old Jack again."
Torin carefully set some food wrapped in a napkin on Patrick's lap. "I'm sure it can be arranged. There's been talk of having a ceili to celebrate your homecoming. I can make sure Jack knows about it."
"Thank you, lad. 'Twould be grand to see all my friends." They ate in silence for several minutes before Patrick again spoke, his gaze riveted to the cold chicken wing in his hand. "And your mother, Maggie, I hope she's well?"
Torin looked at the older man for a moment, his brow wrinkled. "Aye, that she is, and thrilled you've come home again."
Patrick simply nodded.
There seemed to be more significance in the silence than in the words spoken, but Alaina couldn't quite decipher it. As she searched for a comment to make, an orange and black butterfly flitted through the air between them. She watched it swirl back and forth until it reached a cluster of white and yellow flowers a few yards away.
When she looked back at Torin, she caught him staring at her across the blanket. He seemed poised to say something. Then the expression in his eyes changed and he merely smiled before busying himself with serving the cake.
The trio reached their destination as the sun dipped below the horizon. Torin brought the rig to a stop in front of a small two-story cottage, the breeze more biting in the evening shadows that wrapped around the dwelling. Flowers that lined the stone walkway had closed their blossoms to the cool spring evening.
Torin glanced at Alaina. "Home at last."
Weary lines etched her brow. Like the flowers, she seemed to retreat again. He could sense it in the way she held herself. The wary look in her dark eyes made him frown. Torin sighed in frustration as he threw on the break and slid to the ground.
A warm yellow light shown out through two large windows at the front of the house. Double wooden doors with brass fixtures stood sentinel in the middle. One of them flung wide open and Torin smiled as his mother emerged and rushed to greet them.
She wore black, her hair neatly piled high on her head in a most elegant fashion. As she drew closer and welcomed Alaina with a warm smile, the younger woman seemed to blossom again before his eyes.
"Alaina Ryan!" His mother beamed, reaching up to take both Alaina's hands in hers. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you dear. I'm Mary Margaret, but you must call me Maggie. May I call you Alaina? I have a feeling we are going to be fast friends!"
"I hope so," Alaina said, laughing. "And, yes, of course, you may call me Alaina."
Torin strode around to her side of the buggy. "Mum, give the lass a chance to breathe," he teased.
He looked up at Alaina and smiled, holding his hands out to her. "May I help you down, Miss Ryan?"
Alaina glanced away for a moment. He wondered at the place to which she retreated? She looked down at him and nodded. A shy smile spread across her lips before she leaned toward him and placed her hands in his. Torin found he was holding his breath.
He could still feel her tremble when they touched. He sensed that slight hesitation before her touch. Yet, somehow, she seemed more at ease. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he felt a glimmer of hope.
Landing lightly on the ground in front of him, Alaina looked up into his face. When their gazes met and held, he couldn't speak. He could only stare into the dark amber depths where he knew her soul must lie. She didn't move as her lips parted. He felt the tremble of her fingers.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Patrick," Maggie said as she moved beside the buggy and placed her hand on Ryan's shoulder. The older man smiled. "'Tis been a long time. Glad you made it home again, after all."
"So am I, Maggie," Patrick murmured. "So am I."
She turned abruptly and Torin wondered at the break in his mother's voice as she spoke. "Alaina dear, let's get you inside, while Torin helps your da." She placed a hand on Alaina's shoulder and led her up the walk toward the house. "I'm sure you must be exhausted! I've got a fire in the parlor and a nice pot of stew cooking on the stove. I hope you're hungry."
Torin watched the women walk away and then turned his attention to Patrick Ryan, who also followed the women with his gaze, a faraway look lingering on his face. "Such beauty is hard to resist, aye lad?" he said.
For a moment Torin wasn't sure to which lady the old man referred. He had noticed the gleam in Patrick's eyes when his mother had spoken to him. "Aye, but, to resist temptation is often the best course."
Patrick looked at him then and frowned. "You don't mean to marry my daughter, do you lad?"
So time for the truth now, was it? Torin squared his shoulders. "No, sir, I do not. I have no desire to marry any woman, ever. 'Tis nothing personal. She's... The lass is a beauty, indeed."
The old man nodded, his expression thoughtful as he gazed back at the open portal and the warm yellow light that glowed from it like the morning sun.
"I once felt the same, lad. Believe me, I understand more than you think. But I also know, from experience, that you just might be changin' your mind someday. Someday you might be regrettin' what could have been."
"Sir..." Torin hesitated. He hated the notion of bearing his sordid past to a stranger. "If you knew what I've done, what they think I've done---"
"Then I'd be a mystic, now wouldn't I?" Patrick interrupted. "Or I'd be a man who cares of such things as gossip, which I'm not." His thin lips curled in a small smile. "Show me a man who hasn't made a mistake or two and I'll show you a liar. None of us gets through this life without taking a wrong step, lad. Depends on if we make amends or not that shows true character."
Torin frowned as he tried to decipher the old man's words. Finally, he shook his head in frustration as he lifted a trunk from the wagon and thumped it on the ground. "You wouldn't want your daughter with the likes of me, Ryan. She deserves much better a man."
"What she deserves is to be loved," Patrick insisted. "I've watched her suffer enough, lad, often because of the acts of better men. She missed all the things a young woman of her stature should have enjoyed---her first dance, being courted by a string of beaus, a dozen new dresses every season. It should have been so different for her. But now... At least I hope she's stronger for it. I'm proud of my lass. She never complained, never lost her head over losing the fancy trappings I thought were so important."
Torin looked to the house and frowned. She must be strong to have endured all that Patrick had described, and yet, she seemed so fragile, like his mother's best china---the dishes she never used. Alaina looked as if the mere whisper of a touch could crumble her fine features to bits. The Burren could leave a woman dry and barren as the rocks that stretched across the land. Why would Ryan want such a life for a daughter he obviously adored?
"As I said, she deserves much better than me," he insisted, then turned to unload another bag. Patrick's chair came next, but Torin knew it would be impossible to get both man and machine up the sloped walk in the dark. "I'll take the chair first then come back for you."
"Aye, more sensible that way."
A few minutes later he lifted the old man into his arms and carried him toward the house. Patrick Ryan, always larger than life for the stories told of him, seemed frail and insubstantial. But he could feel the strong will within the weak body as the man held himself erect---taking assistance he needed with all the dignity he could, though he didn't relish the act. Aye, there lived a determination no other man had better underestimate, of that Torin was sure. But he was just as determined to keep his solitude intact, no matter how tempting a package Alaina Ryan presented.
\*
Maggie helped Alaina remove her cloak and hat, then hung them on wooden pegs lining the right wall in the foyer below the staircase. All the while, the woman's happy chatter flowed around her.
"Did you travel all this way alone, just you and your da?" Maggie asked. Alaina nodded as she glanced around the small space. "My goodness, such a long journey for you both. 'Tis well and good I made sure Torin was there to meet you at Ballyvaughn."
"Oh, I'm sure I could have managed to hire a carriage, but I am most grateful that he did come. There were some rather unpleasant characters at the docks."
"Aye, that would not surprise me, sad to say." Maggie's gaze moved over Alaina appraisingly. "Ah, you are as lovely as Patrick claimed in his letters."
Alaina's cheeks warmed. Maggie's friendliness seemed almost overwhelming, yet she could feel her own reserve melt beneath the woman's warm acceptance. In just a few moments, she began to understand her father's deep sense of devotion and fondness for the friends left behind in County Clare.
Maggie led her into the parlor at the left through a wide, open arch. The small, cozy room was comfortably furnished with a large, dark green overstuffed chair to the right of the stone hearth and a wooden rocker at the left. Directly centered, stood a small couch in a floral print of deep red and green flowers against a white background.
"'Tis such a thrill to finally have you in our home." Maggie led her across the room, the soles of Alaina's kid boots tapping against polished wood floor. "Your father wrote so many letters in years past, though I hadn't heard much since that dreadful war of yours started."
Alaina looked around. The room shone warmly in the light from the fire and lanterns placed throughout. At the other end of the long room the space was dedicated to a formal dining area. A long rectangular table took up most of it. Six high-backed, wooden chairs flanked the table and Alaina noticed a tall, modest hutch at the far wall, displaying fine china plates and a few pieces of crystal.
"Daddy talked of you and your family so often that I feel as if I've known you all my life." Alaina glanced over her shoulder, wondering where Torin and her father had gone.
"Ah, Patrick has always been a dear man and a good friend," Maggie said with a wistful smile. "Come sit with me, Alaina. You must be exhausted after bouncing around the clints all day in that old buggy."
"Yes, it has been a long day." Alaina sank down beside her hostess and felt a wave of exhaustion flow over her. She could hear heavy footsteps nearing and the familiar creak of her father's chair just as the two men entered the parlor. Her father's face was pale, but a smile lit his eyes.
"The house looks wonderful, Maggie," Patrick said. Their hostess blushed slightly and waved a hand in mid-air.
"Och, since when does the Ryan notice such things, I ask you?" Maggie's smile took any sting out of her light reprimand. "You should be complimented on the building of this house and all the treasures in it. 'Tis the envy of all of Clare."
"Good," Patrick answered with more than a bit of pride. "Just the reaction I hoped for when I commissioned the building of it. Can't have my old friends living in anything less than the best, can I now?"
"You were always too generous, Patrick. But there's not a day goes by that I don't thank the Lord for your generosity...and prosperity."
It was her father's turn to blush. Alaina looked back and forth between the two, her curiosity growing by leaps and bounds. Could there be more here than just an old friendship being rekindled? A glance at Torin told her she wasn't the only one to notice the strange undercurrent between their parents.
"Torin, lad, you are staying the night, aren't you?" Maggie asked as she deftly switched attention to her son.
Alaina glanced at the Irishman as he nodded.
"Then you better take that coat off before you overheat." Maggie shifted her gaze to Alaina as she spoke. "Torin has a small cottage south of the village, but I keep a room for him here in the attic. That way he can always stay over should the need arise."
"I need to bring their bags in first, Mum." He glanced at Alaina and slowly turned back toward the foyer. Her gaze followed him as she wondered about the reason for his sudden unease. She could sense it like the coming of a storm.
"'Tis such a large house, too large for just one person," Maggie continued. "I feel a mite lonely here by myself now that the children have all gone. Our youngest married just before last Christmas."
She glanced toward the hall and then touched Alaina's arm. "I am glad you're here now, dear," she whispered, leaning closer. "Sometimes things don't turn out the way they ought to. People make choices, and not always the right ones. But you know, 'tis never too late. Not 'til you're dead anyway and even then I'm wonderin'." Maggie smiled and squeezed Alaina's arm. "No matter how things may seem, you've got to have faith, aye?"
Alaina looked at her quizzically but nodded. The woman seemed to be trying to tell her something. Her experienced eyes held some kind of warning, but for the life of her, Alaina could not decipher the message.
"Maggie, I think..." Patrick began but went silent when the young Irishman re-entered.
"There, Mum, your wish is my command," Torin announced. "Now, when is that delicious stew of yours going to be ready? All this traveling has given me quite an appetite."
Alaina stared at him a moment. A creamy white shirt and black vest stretched across a broad, muscled chest in such a way that drew her attention. A warm awareness spread through her body and she felt her cheeks flush with heat. Drawing her gaze up toward his face, she flinched when their eyes met. The look there told her that Torin O'Brien knew exactly what she was feeling---even if she did not.
Torin looked away and stopped dead center in the middle of the room as he shifted from one foot to another. It grew even tinier with his presence and the tension that sparked in the air.
"'Tis a good thing you came to us now, Alaina," Maggie said, apparently unaware of the curious unease in the room. "Time to get things settled, I'm thinking."
Alaina turned to look at her hostess, her face burning hotter than the fire in the hearth. Maggie must have seen her indiscrete attention. Never before had she stared so brazenly at any man. Neither had any man's appearance ever caused such a strange stirring in her body.
Maggie smiled. It was a gentle expression that offered both kindness and love. Then she looked to where her son stood, frozen in place at the center of the room. Alaina glanced up at his face and away again.
"Mum... please..." Pain laced each whispered word.
"What is it then, lad?" Maggie asked, one eyebrow raised. Alaina knew at that moment that Mrs. O'Brien wasn't being blunt in order to humiliate her so much as to reprimand her son.
"Have I said something I shouldn't? You were planning on telling Alaina and her father the truth of it, weren't you?"
"Maggie---" her father tried to interrupt, but the woman ignored him.
"That you've decided never to marry, despite the promise your fathers made to one another so many years ago? Or where you planning on ignoring the whole thing, hoping the lass would tire of waiting and slink off home again?"
Maggie shook her head. "Your honesty could never be faulted, Torin O'Brien, so I'm thinking you wouldn't start giving me reason to question it now."
Alaina heard him clear his throat. She glanced up. Even in the warm glow of the fire, she could see the red blush creeping into his face. For that moment, her humiliation fled and was replaced by compassion for the big, speechless man standing before her―a man who was yet still very much a child when faced with his mother's disapproval.
"I'm sure he just didn't have the opportunity to properly approach the subject, Maggie," Alaina interjected. The part of her that suddenly wanted to protect him took over. "He was so busy making sure we were comfortable that the subject never arose. I must say, I have never had the privilege of such an educated and interesting view of history. The land here is so stark and yet so very lovely. I quite enjoyed learning something of your history."
Maggie looked at her thoughtfully, her gray-green eyes---so like her son's---twinkled in the firelight. She smiled and nodded her head.
"Aye, 'tis a grand thing to see beyond the surface, Alaina, and not a thing that comes easy in this world." She glanced at Torin. "My son is a fair historian, to be sure. He's always loved a good story and has a way with telling them. Long ago, he might have been a seanachais, a storyteller. But he does so love teaching the children."
Alaina dared a glance at Torin and found him watching her. The look in his eyes left her feeling self-conscious and flustered.
"Come, now." Maggie rose and took Alaina by the hand. "I am sure supper is ready for us now. We can talk more while we eat. Patrick, how long has it been since you had a good Irish stew?"
"Much too long, Maggie," he answered with a generous smile as his old friend took the handles of his chair and pushed him toward the dining table. "Far too long, indeed."
\*
Torin tried to keep his attention on the food before him, but Alaina's presence drew him like a siren call. Even the sound of her voice brought to mind the sailor's tales of beauties that led a man slowly to his doom. Torin wondered if he were destined to fall into such a snare and repeat mistakes that would only bring them both sorrow.
He glanced at her as she talked. No. He would not let that happen again. Her innocence would be his to guard and protect, if even from his own desires.
"Torin, is there something wrong with the food this evening?" his mother asked, an indignant note in her clear voice.
He started. "What? Oh, no, of course not, Mum. I'm just a bit tired."
His mother frowned, looking at him with those eyes that missed little and let even less go by without a challenge. He said a silent prayer she would show him a bit of mercy and accept his excuse.
"Well, that's to be expected, I suppose." Torin felt like hugging her. His mother's gaze turned back to Patrick. "You built your plantation in just five years? Such a grand place and quite a thing to have made your fortune so quickly."
Patrick shrugged as Alaina smiled. "Yes, Daddy worked for a few years after arriving in America, saved his money, and then met and married my mother. She came from a prominent New Orleans family and her dowry gave him the capital he needed to buy the land and finance the building of Aveleen."
"Aye, it would have taken much longer otherwise," Patrick admitted with a wry grin.
Something in Alaina's tone caught Torin's attention. The gentle smile she wore when speaking of her father was noticeably absent at the mention of her mother. In fact, Ryan himself had rarely spoken of his American wife in any of letters they'd received over the years, though they had been informed of the deaths of both Mrs. Ryan and Alaina's younger brother.
Pain washed over Torin at the recollection of his own losses. Unlike Alaina's, they were of his own making. Flashes of a misspent youth filled his mind---the betrayed look on his father's face, the lost trust of his family and friends. The sweet innocence of the girl he once had loved---her eyes open in death, her face battered, limbs twisted as they pulled her lifeless body from the ocean.
He looked up at Alaina, seeing her as if for the first time. No longer was she simply the spoiled rich American his father insisted he marry. Now he glimpsed the frightened young lass whose world had fallen from beneath her feet. How had she survived? Could that explain the fear that seemed so much a part of her?
His gaze roamed her face. Something inside him wanted to reach out and smooth the frown away. Torin stiffened with the knowledge of how much her presence affected him.
It had taken great courage for her to face her nameless fear and to put her trust in strangers. All for the love of her dear father. He found himself envying the man he had once resented.
\*
She lay in the dark room, the only light from a small fire somewhere to her left. Hardly daring to breathe, let alone move, she wondered where she was. A fog covered her mind like a thick, heavy blanket. Her jumbled thoughts didn't fit together. Nothing made sense.
Very slowly her eyes adjusted to the dimness and the room came into focus. It was strange though vaguely familiar.
While in this state of confusion, she sensed some sort of movement. The door opened slowly, quietly. Rising up on her elbow, Alaina looked toward the sound. A tall figure slipped into the room, disguised by the shadows. The door closed without a sound. Her breath caught in her throat as the figure approached the bed.
"Alaina?" The deep, familiar voice vibrated across her skin.
She then saw his face in the dim light. Torin. His eyes seemed to glow from some fire within. He stared at her and lowered himself to sit beside her on the bed. He didn't say another word, but gazed into her eyes. Then he stroked a stray strand of hair away from her face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He caressed her cheek and slid his strong fingers into the hair at her nape. "I could not stay away."
She started to shake. She couldn't breath. Grasping his arm, she yanked his hand away and flung it toward the bed.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" She pulled herself up and scooted back toward the headboard until the carved wood bit into her shoulder blades. "You...you shouldn't be here."
Torin shook his head. "No, Alaina. 'Tis you who shouldn't be here. You've invaded my life. Now give me what I want."
No! Not again! No, he wouldn't.
Torin leaned over her, his eyes dark as she pushed at his chest, her mind frantic with fear.
Alaina bolted upright on the empty bed. Her body shook, a scream of terror lodged in her dry throat. She glanced around the room, taking in every shadow and silhouette.
She blinked. A dream. It was only a dream.
Torin sat straight up on the bed as his heart pounded against the wall of his chest.
He stared into the darkness, the shadows shifting and slowly materializing into vague outlines of solid shapes. The attic. He was still in the attic.
Thrusting both hands through his tousled hair, he concentrated on taking deep, steady breaths. Images from his dream flashed before his eyes in vivid color. Torin groaned aloud and jumped up from the bed. The top of his head caught the edge of a beam stretching the length of low ceiling. He cried out, clutching his throbbing skull as he sunk back onto the thin mattress.
"Why?" he whispered as the pain subsided. "Why now, God, when I'm trying to be the man you want me to be? Why send her here now? 'Tis not right to so sorely tempt me." His fist slammed into the helpless feather bed. "'Tis not fair! Or am I still be punished for the past? Is that it? Am I never to be forgiven?"
Torin sighed, his anger dissipating with the air that left his body. Forgiveness should be a gift sought, not a trial endured. Perhaps he still had much to learn.
But it wouldn't do to place his soul or Alaina's sweet innocence at risk. He would leave his mother's house first thing in the morning and return to his own cottage. He had promised his mother that he would stay in the Burren until Miss Ryan and her father set sail for America once more. When he made that vow, he had not realized the difficulty in keeping it. He could not stay under the same roof with her, but he would remain in his small cottage until her visit ended.
He lay back down and felt his stomach rumble. Now he was hungry. He could still smell the faint lingering odors of the mutton stew. After a brief moment, Torin decided his hunger could not wait until morning. He rose from the bed, slipped on his trousers and shirt, leaving most of the buttons undone as he descended the attic steps barefoot. The others would be sleeping this time of night. He could be down to the kitchen and back again without anyone the wiser.
\*
Alaina slipped out into the dark hallway. The door creaked like a trumpet in the night. She cringed, stopping still in her tracks and listening. Apparently the noise didn't rouse anyone. She pulled the door quietly shut behind her and ventured into the dark with cautious steps.
The evening meal had been delicious and Maggie the perfect hostess. But with Torin sitting only two feet away, she had quickly lost her desire for food and could only pick at the meal as she talked. Thank goodness for Maggie's engaging conversation, otherwise the silence at the table would have been deafening.
She turned, stepping toward the space where the stairwell ought to be. Suddenly, a large shaped moved in the shadows and she shrieked, dropping her candle as she collided headlong with solid, hard warmth. The flame flickered out.
A hand clamped over her mouth.
"Don't scream!" a familiar voice whispered harshly―Torin. "'Tis me, Miss Ryan."
Alaina couldn't relax. Her body shook from the contact of his powerful frame leaning into her.
"Did I hurt you?" he whispered.
She realized she had been holding her breath. Slowly the air seeped from her lungs and Torin loosened his hold. She pulled away from him as nervous flutters coursed down her spine.
"I-I am fine," she managed. "I just don't like the dark."
Just then, her stomach growled. She was thankful for the darkness that hid her blush.
Torin chuckled softly. "I'm on my way to the kitchen." The slight hesitation which followed seemed even longer as she stood there in the dark with the big man towering over her. "Would you join me, Miss Ryan? Seems we both neglected the fine meal Mum made us. It would serve us right if she's fed the leftovers to the dog."
The sudden humor made Alaina laugh despite her nervousness. "Does she have a dog?"
"Nay, but the neighbors do. Mum would seek one out just to teach me a lesson about neglecting her cooking."
Alaina covered her mouth to stifle the laughter that bubbled up. As she followed him to the darkened staircase, she realized that it had been a long time since any man had made her feel even remotely at ease. Yet, in other ways, this particular man made her more nervous than anyone else.
Suddenly, he stopped. She shivered as his warm fingers touched her wrist. He cleared his throat.
"You'd best stay close to me, Miss Ryan. Wouldn't want you to go tumbling down the stairs in the dark."
Without waiting for a reply, his large hand closed gently about hers. Like two disobedient children, they crept down the winding staircase in the dark. Alaina stumbled once. Torin turned swiftly, catching her in his strong, warm arms. She stood still for a moment, leaning against his broad chest. He pushed her upright and held her arms until she had her footing again.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at where she thought his chest to be.
"Are you hurt?" His voice sounded strained. She hoped he didn't think she was throwing herself at him and acting like a little helpless fool to get his attention. She had friends who did exactly that. Each of them was now happily married. The thought made her feel suddenly depressed.
"No..." she murmured, realizing he was still waiting for her reply. "I'm fine, thank you." They continued down the last few steps.
Embers from the parlor fire cast a faint orange glow over the downstairs hall. Alaina gazed at Torin as he stepped into the light. He turned to look at her. The vivid pictures from her dream leapt into her mind. Apprehension snaked around her, tying her stomach into knots.
"Are you sure your mother won't mind?" she asked, shrinking back into the shadows. She shouldn't be here, alone at night with a man she hardly knew. Hadn't she learned anything?
He shook his head. "She'll be disappointed if one of us doesn't at least try. This way."
He turned and walked down the hall to another door she hadn't noticed earlier. Alaina hesitated, whispering a prayer for guidance. He stopped at the threshold and turned to look at her. The darkness hid his expression, but she knew her obvious fear would be puzzling. She couldn't tell him why it was there, but she must try and make sure he didn't think the blame lay at his feet in any way.
Taking a deep breath, Alaina stepped down into the hallway and followed his path. When she neared, Torin preceded her into the small kitchen. Moonlight streamed through three small windows and faintly lit the perimeter of the room.
"Stand still a moment," he commanded as he moved further. "There's a lantern here somewhere if I can..."
A thud followed by several colorful Gaelic curses filled the air. Alaina choked back laughter, her chest almost bursting from the force of it.
"Pardon," he muttered. She heard more noises, then a clanging metallic crash. More muttering, this time quiet enough, she couldn't make out the words.
"Ah, here we are," he said. A swift scratching sound followed by a sudden bright light and the sharp smell of sulfur wafted through the air. Alaina blinked at the white glare, spots floated before her eyes. Torin removed the chimney of a lantern and lit the wick, replacing the top as he blew out the match.
He turned to face her, the smile on his lips freezing and then slowly dissolving into an astonished stare. Alaina frowned.
"What is it?" she asked, then glanced down at the direction of his gaze. The edges of her heavy cotton robe had drifted apart, revealing entirely too much of her cream-colored dressing gown. It was then she realized her nipples had become hard and taut from the chill in the air---and were now very clearly outlined against the soft white material pulled snug against her full breasts.
"Oh!" Alaina grasped the fabric, turning away from him as she jerked the material into a more modest arrangement. "I am sorry! It---"
He turned abruptly. "I think Mum left some mutton in the pantry. Let me look."
He disappeared behind a faded calico curtain. Alaina waited, wondering how he could see anything in the dark little room. She glanced around the modest kitchen at walls lined with cabinets and a deep metal sink with an indoor hand pump. A black iron stove stood at the opposite side of the room, which was divided by a small rectangular table and four chairs.
Bright green and white checked linen curtains matched the towels neatly folded by the wash basin. The floor was wood and spotless, like the rest of the room. Alaina admired the simplicity of it all as much as she envied the homey atmosphere.
It seemed an eternity before he reappeared, carrying a flat board covered with cloth. His gaze flicked to her and then to the table.
She folded her arms beneath her chest, glancing around and wishing she'd stayed upstairs. Her stomach rumbled again and she winced, her gaze moving automatically toward the Irishman as he laid the board on the table. He didn't seem to notice.
"I hope this will be suitable, Miss Ryan," he said as he sliced the bread and piled the thick slices high with cold meat and cheese. "I'm not much of a cook so Mum always leaves a bit of food for me to a make a quick meal."
"It sounds good," she replied, inching toward the table while he worked. "Can I help?"
Torin glanced up as he turned to grab two tin plates off the sideboard. "Nay, this is the easy part." He laid some of the offering on each plate and pushed one toward her. "I will need your help in eating it."
Alaina looked at the thick stack piled in front of her and frowned. "Well, I'll try." They sat down together, the narrow width of the table between them.
It took a moment to decide on the most proper way to eat the enormous repast, but soon hunger gave way to manners and she plunged in. The savory meat and tangy cheese went well together.
"This is very good, thank you," she said after swallowing her first mouthful.
Torin smiled. "There might be a bit of milk left, or would you rather have water?" He rose from his chair.
"Milk, please, if there's enough. But water would be fine." He nodded. A moment later he set two large cups of warm milk on the table.
"Just the thing to help you sleep," Torin said as he sat.
Alaina smiled. "Nanny Rose always said that, too."
"Nanny Rose?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh, yes, she was my nurse. One of my daddy's...um, one of the..."
"Slaves?"
The word hung in the air like an accusation although his tone of voice remained neutral. Alaina placed the sandwich back on her plate and tried to gather her thoughts.
"Yes," she finally answered and looked him in the eye. "She was a slave. She was also my dearest friend. I loved her like a mother. For many years, she was the only real mother I knew."
Torin stared at her across the table. A frown rippled over his angular features before he sighed. "I would like to apologize, Miss Ryan."
She shook her head. "For what, exactly?"
"For not telling you," he began, and hesitated. "I should have told you years ago of my decision not to marry. It would have been the honorable thing to do. But I chose a coward's way and ignored the subject like Mum said---hoping the problem would just vanish. Will you forgive me?"
"Of course, Mr. O'Brien, I forgive you. But there's no reason to apologize. I have no idea how you could have brought up such a thing in our earlier conversation. You had no idea why I came to Ireland as I did. It would only be natural for you to assume that I...well, that I expected to find..."
"A husband?" he asked.
"Yes. But I didn't, I assure you. I didn't even know about you until the night after Daddy and I boarded the ship. He told me everything then about his friendship with your father, our betrothal. I couldn't believe he had done such a thing at first, but he is a sentimental person. I'm sure that accounted for much of this scheme of theirs."
"They had no right!" Torin slammed his fist on the table and she jumped in her seat. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Forgive me, Miss Ryan. 'Tis just that I lived with this scheme, as you call it, all my life! I resented it. I resented you, because our fathers insisted on forcing their wills upon us."
The anger in his face and blazing in his eyes made her want to bolt and run. But she refused to obey the instinct.
Torin sighed as he pushed a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"I'm not really," she said with a small smile. "You startled me, but I know you would never hurt me."
Their gazes held across the table. "No," he replied. "That I would never do. And no matter what you hear...what others might say, please know I would never harm any woman."
She shook her head to break the connection between them. The intense look in his eyes made her uncomfortable.
"I would never believe such a thing of you," she murmured. "And I only came to bring my father home. I wasn't expecting to find a husband waiting for me. I did promise Daddy that I would meet you, but that is all. He would never expect me to marry someone I didn't care for. Your solitude is safe, Mr. O'Brien."
"Is there someone waiting for you in Virginia?" he asked suddenly. "Someone you care for?"
She stared at him as the silence vibrated between them. "There is someone waiting for me, yes," she replied, her voice steady though her gaze wavered.
"Someone you care for?" he prodded.
"That's rather personal considering we've only just met."
Torin smiled. "'Tis rather impersonal considering we're supposed to be getting married."
She looked down at the table as fought to order her thoughts. How could she explain her own emotions when she wasn't sure of them herself? How could she tell this stranger about a man who cared for her, wanted to marry her? A man who she had once idolized, but for whom she now held little feeling beyond a warm regard?
"I am well past a marriageable age," she said, choosing to avoid the subject if he'd let her. "And it would be rather ridiculous of me to expect you to fall in line with this betrothal. Such promises are made and broken every day, particularly when there is no benefit to be had by either party."
"No benefit?"
She lifted her gaze to his. "The arrangement was simply the only way two friends could find to unite their families. Daddy told me they thought that if they were bound by such a marriage, their relationship would continue in heaven. While I don't agree with their methods, I do admire the strength of their friendship. You and I were paired together merely by the misfortune of our birth order."
"Misfortune?" he repeated. "Is that what it is? A misfortune?"
"Now please don't be offended," Alaina interjected as she began to feel a little lost. One moment he resented the idea of their betrothal, the next he seemed upset that she'd treat it so lightly. "What I mean is that either of your brothers could have been selected, but they chose you because you had already been born. You were, what? Two years old when my father left Ireland?" When Torin nodded, she said, "I was chosen because I was the first born daughter---the only surviving daughter. But we were not singled out for any other reason."
\*
She had a point, but it didn't sit well in his mind. To have had his life dictated to him simply because he'd been the first born? It made the entire thing much less personal. Somehow, in his mind, it seemed to belittle the outrage he felt. It made his youthful rebellion seem all that more childish.
"Misfortune! Our misfortune is that we had to spend our lives towing the line so that a couple of old fools can be reunited in heaven!"
Alaina's eyes narrowed. Her chin lifted as light flashed from the amber depths of her gaze. "Mr. O'Brien, my father was never a fool."
Torin stood as she rose, inwardly shivering at the steel in her voice. She looked like an avenging angel, eyes flashing fire and shaking with fury as they stood there in his mother's kitchen.
"You have no right to speak ill of him and I will not sit here and listen to it!"
For a moment, he almost apologized, but the fact that he wanted to made him even angrier for some reason. He had the right to be angry. She had come here invading his world, his mother's house, sneaking into his dreams... Torin recoiled as the erotic visions of his night fantasy danced across his mind.
Her skin smooth as pale silk beneath his hands. Her dark auburn hair the color of whiskey as it spilled across his chest. Her eyes aflame with passion as he moved inside her...
Torin fought to slow his breathing and took a small step back from the table to keep from reaching for her. Where was his self-restraint when he needed it most? He swallowed hard and watched as her dark eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then refocused on him.
"I am sorry," she said. "That was very rude of me. He's a good man, Mr. O'Brien. He might go above and beyond what is necessary or even acceptable where I'm concerned, but that is only because he loves me."
He shook his head as the fire within abated. "Torin, please."
Alaina stared. "Pardon me?"
"I would be honored if you'd call me by my Christian name."
"I'm not sure that would be such a good idea."
He shrugged, extremely conscious of an inexplicable need to hear his name on her lips. "It just seems a bit strange---you calling my mother Maggie, and yet addressing me so formally."
"Well---"
"Maybe just when we're alone." Her eyes widened and he felt his face burn. "Not the two of us! I mean, not that I wouldn't want to be---" He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. Everything was coming out all wrong. "Perhaps just when we're here at the house together."
He saw it again. The fear. He preferred her anger over that look of terror that leapt into her eyes and passed over her fine features like death's shadow.
Despite the brief look, she took a deep breath and nodded her head. "All right then, Torin. I see no harm in that. You may call me Alaina, if you wish."
"Thank you, Alaina." Her name slid from his tongue like a seductive whisper. Suddenly feeling years lighter, he smiled and gestured toward their forgotten meal. "Now, let's stop this foolish arguing and get back to our food. Mum wouldn't forgive us if we left it to sit a second time."
Alaina laughed somewhat uneasily before she sat back down. "I wouldn't want to offend Maggie. I imagine she can be quite formidable when crossed."
Torin chuckled. "Aye, that's the truth of it. You must be a good judge of character." He frowned as the laughter died in Alaina's eyes and she looked down at her plate. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, of course not," she said, shaking her dark head. Alaina Ryan didn't lie well. "I like Maggie. She's much warmer and open than anyone I've ever met. Has she adjusted well since your father passed on?"
Torin shrugged, pretending to be absorbed in his food. "Aye, I think she's done well though she misses him. They were very close, still very much in love despite all the years together. I had planned on moving to Dublin but stayed to look after Mum. Though if truth be told, she did much better than I at Dad's passing. So many things I wish I had said when he was still living to hear them."
Alaina's face softened with what might have been gentle sympathy. "Yes, I understand."
\*
Two hours later, as they climbed the stairs together, the mood shifted once again. The stillness of the house seemed suffocating. They were so very alone. With each step, the tension grew and the small candle she now held did little to dispel the darkness or the peculiar mood. When they reached Alaina's door, she turned to bid him good night. "Thank you for the meal and the company."
He took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Good night, Alaina."
"Good night, Torin."
His fingers gripped hers, his gaze steadfast. She pulled away, turned and walked into her room. Closing the door behind her, she leant against it. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her limbs shook as she waited for him to move away.
At long last, she heard his quiet footsteps fade toward the other end of the hall and then up the attic stairs. Disappointment closely followed the relief that swept over her. She was glad he hadn't tried to kiss her, but why would he? The man did not want to be a husband.
After a moment, she moved to the bed. The muffled thud of bare feet on the attic floorboards overhead matched the rhythm of her heart. She sighed, picking up her brush before sinking down onto the thick mattress.
Back and forth, back and forth he paced. She braided her hair and listened to the steady beat of his steps. Minutes later, tucked beneath a heavy quilt, the sound lulled her back to sleep.
Torin made his way down the attic steps early the next morning. The faint rays of the morning sun bathed the stair landing in soft pink light.
As he passed the door to Alaina's room, memories of their late evening together raced through his mind. Her presence had stirred feelings long ago locked away behind a forbidden door. Her company and conversation made him realize how isolated he had become.
Gentle humming rose from the first floor. He smiled. Mum always had a song in her heart and on her lips when she worked. He breathed deeply to fill his lungs with the fragrant aroma of freshly baked bread, the sweet, tangy odor of apples baking and tempting smell of potatoes and onions frying.
He bounded down the rest of the stairs like a boy, eager as much for his mother's fine cooking as he was anxious about seeing their houseguests again. As he flung the kitchen door wide, Torin froze on the threshold. Alaina and his mother both turned to look at him. His mother's expression was soft and welcoming. Alaina cast a shy smile in his direction before turning back to the bowl of dough she'd been kneading.
"Morning, lad," Maggie said. "Sit down, we'll have breakfast ready in just a moment. Alaina's making us bread." She gave the younger woman a broad, affectionate smile before lifting the kettle. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Aye, thank you." Moving like a sleepwalker he went to the table and slid down onto the chair he occupied the previous evening. There was something about Alaina this morning as she worked with the sleeves of her blue gown rolled up to her elbows, flour covering her hands and apron. The smudge of white on the tip of her upturned nose made him smile. The sight of her so disheveled and domestic stirred feelings Torin couldn't identify. He quickly stamped them down again.
"Did you sleep at all?"
He turned his head to look at his mother. "What? Oh, yes of course I did. Why?"
Mum's eyebrow quirked and he shifted uncomfortably. "Come now, lad, I heard you pacing up there until I about lost my mind!"
Torin felt his face grow warm. He glanced at Alaina, wondering if his discomfort had been as obvious to her. But she kept to her work, her head bent over the bowl as she seemed to pour all her strength into kneading the white mass.
"I suppose I had a little trouble sleeping, Mum, but 'tis nothing to worry yourself over. It's hard to sleep on a full stomach."
"Full?" Maggie poured the tea into a delicate china cup and carried it to her son. "You ate hardly a bite at dinner and expect me to believe you were too full to sleep? Are you sure you aren't coming down with something?"
"I'm fine, Mum," he said just as she clapped one hand over his forehead. Torin winced and tried to pull away. "I had a late snack and had a hard time falling asleep again."
"Och! Hold still a moment, lad! Just making sure you aren't feverish. Can't be too careful with guests in the house, you know. The last thing Patrick needs is to be getting a cold or worse."
"Your hand's as cold as ice!" he complained, but sat still until she had satisfied her mother's instinct.
"Nonsense!" Maggie said. "But you feel normal enough. If you start feeling poorly, lad, you must tell me. Can't have my boy walking around sick when he should be in bed."
"Aye, Mum," he murmured, glancing at Alaina again. She hadn't said one word to him yet or even looked his way since that first tentative smile. He should be grateful for that but for some reason, her lack of attention bothered him.
"And mind you manners, lad." Maggie slapped his shoulder lightly. "Say good morning to our guest."
Alaina glanced at him then. He saw the apprehension flit across the depths of her eyes. Torin forced a smile. Her fear of him was beginning to rankle something fierce. What had he done to deserve such distrust from her?
"Good morning, Alaina," he said, watching her expression. The touch of pink that washed over her cheeks made his irritation waver. God in Heaven, she was a sight for sore eyes.
"Good morning...Torin," she said, flicking a glance in Maggie's direction.
His mother turned back to the stove without a word. Torin thought it curious that she didn't comment on the sudden familiarity between them.
"Patrick is still abed. Seems the journey took much more out of him then we realized," his mother said as she continued cooking. "After breakfast, I'm thinking I'll take Alaina around the village to meet some of our neighbors, if you wouldn't mind staying with her da for a bit?" Maggie scooped potatoes out of the heavy iron skillet and laid them on a large plate.
Torin glanced at Alaina, noting the way her shoulders stiffened at his mother's suggestion. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Mum?"
His mother turned, laying the platter on the table before him as she looked him in the eye. "I don't know what you're thinking, Torin lad. I'm sure everyone knows she and Patrick are here. 'Tis better to be open about the reason for it than to let the gossips have their day and create a scandal."
Torin picked up a fork and speared a steaming chunk from the plate. He blew across the surface before popping it into his mouth.
"I'm sure they'll draw their own conclusions, Mum. The more sordid the better."
\*
Alaina frowned and punched the dough. She didn't appreciate being talked about as if she weren't there. Wiping her hands on the apron Maggie had loaned her, she picked up a folded towel from the counter and draped it over the bowl. Taking a deep breath, she turned and faced them.
"What conclusions are those?" she asked, looking from one to the other. Torin glanced away, but not before she'd seen the guilt in his eyes. He seemed to bear the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. Did it really belong there?
"Well, lass," the older woman began. "'Tis just that all of Clare knows my Michael meant for the two of you to marry. Now that you're here, well, they'll be wondering what's going on."
Torin cleared his throat but kept his gaze averted. "I'm not the most popular man in County Clare, Alaina. Many will have a grand time inventing all kinds of stories about you and me."
Alaina frowned. "Well I don't see how any of it is anyone's business. Let them gossip, if that's all their feeble minds can invent for diversion."
The simple statement took much for her to utter, for Alaina's mother had raised her to believe the opinions of others were all that mattered. It was but one point of living about which her parents had disagreed. Yet, Torin and Maggie couldn't know that, just as they couldn't know the circumstances that made Alaina refuse to worry about gossip, despite her mother's convictions. Small-minded people would never make Alaina uncomfortable again.
Maggie looked momentarily stunned before a broad smile spread across her face. "You are truly Patrick's daughter!" The smile passed and a serious expression took its place. "However, because of the past, some may have an axe to grind with Torin and I don't want either of you hurt, lass. A sharp tongue wielding half-truths can be much more painful than any weapon of war."
Alaina nodded. "I agree. But if my presence here is going to cause you difficulty, Maggie, then perhaps we should leave and---"
"No!" Torin exclaimed. The women turned to him. He shifted, his fierce expression softening. "There's nowhere for you to go, Alaina, and no reason for you to leave this house. I have the cottage. I'll stay there until you're safely bound for home. That should stem the tide of gossip a bit."
"Torin---"
"No, Mum," he interjected. "My mind is made up. I promised you I'd stay in Clare for the duration of the Ryan's visit and that I'll do, but not under the same roof. It would give the villagers too much fuel for the filth in their minds. After breakfast, I'll pack my things." He rose to his feet, pushing his chair back from the table. "If you need me, I won't be far."
Even though he'd directed the words to his mother, somehow to Alaina, it felt as if he spoke just to her.
\*
Later that afternoon, Alaina watched from her bedroom window as Torin kissed his mother's cheek and walked toward the village alone. He carried but one small bag and didn't look back as he strode down the path.
She felt guilty that he should have to leave his mother's house because of her. Yet relief filled her as his silhouette faded in the distance. Torin O'Brien stirred feelings that she didn't understand---things she couldn't recognize beneath the lingering fear that wrapped around her whenever he stood too close.
A knock at the door made her jump. "Yes?"
"'Tis me, Alaina," Maggie said as she pushed open the door and smiled. "Are you settled in then, dear?"
"Yes, thank you. You've made me feel very welcome. I'm sorry Torin thought he had to go."
Maggie waved a hand in the air. "Don't fear. This is for the best at the moment. I am glad you've come, Alaina. The lad will make a better choice now."
"What do you mean?"
Maggie smiled and shook her head. "There's nothing to fear, lass. You hide it fairly well---my son, not so much. But 'tis plain as the nose on my face that there's a strong feeling pulling at the two of you. He's a handsome man and you're a lovely young woman. It would concern me if the two of you didn't notice such things."
Alaina saw the mischievous sparkle in Maggie's eyes. It left her almost speechless. "I assure you, Maggie, there is nothing between---"
"Don't be telling me that now, Alaina Ryan!" Maggie admonished. After a moment, she sighed and stepped toward Alaina, closing the door behind her.
"Seems you need to know the truth of things from my point of view," she said. "Torin's afraid...afraid of hurting again. I'm thinking you put a fierce scare into him as well."
Alaina turned away, feeling the weight of Maggie's gaze as she walked to the dresser. "Why would he be afraid of me? I'm nothing to him." She picked up her silver-plated brush then quickly put it down again when her hand shook.
Maggie chuckled. "If only you knew. Alaina, I want my boy happy and at peace. I know in my soul that he needs to be moving on with his life. He needs to forgive himself and open up his heart again."
Alaina turned. "Forgive himself? For what?"
"For past mistakes." Maggie walked to the window and pulled the curtains shut. "We all have them, you know. Things we wish we'd done different. And now's his chance to make amends."
"But, I am not here to marry Torin. I came to bring my daddy home. I promised I would meet your son, but nothing more. I can't marry him, Maggie. I don't think I can marry anyone, ever."
Maggie frowned. "But why, lass?"
Alaina wrung her hands together, worried the other woman would see the guilt and the shame she harbored in her depths of her being. It was something she could never share with another. But wouldn't it be grand, just once, to reveal her darkest secret to someone? She wavered for a moment, the words at the tip of her tongue, but then retreated.
No. It just couldn't be. Hers was a load meant to be borne in solitude.
"I don't have that kind of emotion in me," Alaina said, sure that it wasn't really a lie. She'd never felt any real passion for any man. Perhaps too much had happened all those years ago. Perhaps another part of her had died along with the trust.
Maggie stepped forward and banished the terrible memories with the gentle touch of her hand. "Sometimes the feeling comes only with the right man, Alaina," she said with a soft smile. "If you ever need to talk, just know I'm a very good listener. Seems both you and my boy have demons to vanquish."
The older woman sighed and turned away. "'Tis enough serious talk for now," she said brightly as she walked to the door. "You go look in on your father while I fix us something to eat, aye? I'll bring a tray to his room as soon as everything's ready. Then we'll see about getting Patrick well again."
Alaina silently thanked God for bringing Maggie O'Brien into her life.
\*
The whiskey burned down his throat like embers from the hearth. Torin took a breath, blinked back the tears and exhaled a slow, steady stream of air.
"Need another?" Liam Shannon, the barkeep asked. Torin started to shake his head but thought better of it.
"Aye, one more round."
It had been a while since Torin visited the pub. He preferred to do his drinking alone, without the prying eyes of town gossips in attendance. But tonight he needed the distraction of Tim Morrison's tall tales and the rowdy darts game of the Simon twins. Without such diversion, his thoughts would dwell on thick dark hair that flashed with fire in the sun, and deep brown eyes that beckoned a man onward to promise.
"Or to my grave," he mused aloud.
Shannon's balding blond head snapped in his direction. "Sorry, mate, I missed that."
Torin chuckled. "No worries," he replied and then tossed the second shot down his throat. The warmth slid like smooth silk down his burnished gullet. A flame sparked low in his belly.
"Let me guess," Shannon said as he stood behind the wooden bar and continued to polish one of his prize glass mugs. "Woman troubles?"
Torin shook his head and set down the glass. "No, not the way you're thinking."
"There's many a way for a colleen to turn a man to drink," the publican said as he placed the glass on a shelf behind him and picked up another. "She can give a man too little loving or too much, if tales I hear are true."
Torin grunted. Somehow he doubted any man suffered from the latter.
"Aye," Shannon continued. "Then there be those that tease to get a man's blood boiling and then turn into pious angels. That was me Bronwyn's favorite game before we wed. She'd heat me up like a bull in springtime among the heifers and then push me away with a shriek of disgust."
Shannon shook his head, a slight smile curving his thin mouth as he stared somewhere off in the distance over Torin's shoulder. "I miss those games of hers. Miss them something fierce." He focused on Torin and grinned.
"So what has Patrick's lass done to send you head first into the bottle?"
"Nothing." He motioned for another shot.
"Ah, I see," Shannon said as he poured the dark liquid.
Torin frowned. "Nay, I don't think you see anything at all."
Shannon chuckled. "I hear she's a beauty and carries herself like a lady. Don't need to be no professor to understand your problem, lad."
"And what would that be?"
"You need a bit of a tumble, 'tis all. The soft touch of a woman's hand will cure what ails you."
"I told you before," Torin insisted. "I haven't got a problem. The lass means nothing to me and there's nothing to be solved by laying with any colleen that a good whiskey won't cure."
"Aren't you going to marry her, then?" the other man asked with a frown.
"No. I'm not."
"But I thought---"
"You thought wrong. Miss Ryan is not to be my bride."
"Oh," Shannon said. "'Tis a shame, that. Just remember, Torin, life alone can be hard on a man. The Burren is a lonely land without a woman by your side to warm the nights."
"You're alone, Liam," he pointed out. "Have been nigh on ten years."
"That I have, lad. So I guess I be the voice of experience, don't you think?"
"Why did you not marry again?"
Shannon motioned with his hand, indicating the dark, crowded pub. The smell of smoke, stale whiskey and sweat filled the air along with colorful curses and bawdy jokes.
"Couldn't find another lass to put up with this," he said. "Besides, I found the love of me life---not sure anything else could measure up. But you're young, lad. You've got a whole lot of years for loving."
"I'm no stranger to love, Liam." Torin dropped a coin on the bar and rose to his feet. "I'd best be going."
At that moment the front door flew open and slapped against the wall. The other patrons went silent behind him and Shannon gazed over Torin's shoulder, his thick hand going below the bar to where Torin knew he kept a long wooden stick.
"You've been told not to come back here," Shannon said evenly to the newcomer. Torin had yet to turn around, but he could guess at the unwanted patron's identity.
"Have mercy on a man, Shannon." Nick Doogan's whine filled the room. "Where am I supposed to get a drink in this godforsaken town if not here?"
Damn, but Torin could use a good fight and this might be just the opportunity. Would be a grand way to work off some of the frustration he'd built up since meeting his betrothed.
"Sit and have a pint, then you be on your way."
Torin watched Doogan's expression in the distorted mirror behind the bar. The slimy bastard smiled, showing off his uneven teeth and nodded in agreement. "That's all I want, after all."
Torin stared straight ahead, jaw clenched as he watched Shannon pour the dark brew. The publican didn't want Doogan here, that was clear, but it wouldn't do his business any good to throw a man out. Better to take the smooth path around than to set straight off over the rocks.
Many in Clare still wondered if Torin was as innocent as the court claimed. Many more still sided with Doogan, saying he'd been wronged and deserved his revenge no matter the law. If it hadn't been for his mother, Torin would have left the county and stayed away years ago. In the end it might come to that---anything would be better than seeing the glimmer of blame, the small hint of doubt in the eyes of his neighbors and even his friends. No one quite trusted a man once accused of murder.
"Now take this to the corner, Doogan, and be on your way after," Shannon's voice boomed from deep inside his broad chest. The lads might get rowdy, but they never went too far in the pub. None wished to face the gentle giant's wrath at the opposite end of the shillelagh.
Doogan ignored the order and propped a foot on a nearby stool before he took a long drag from his mug. "Ah, smooth as a whore's thighs," he muttered. Torin flinched inwardly at the crude statement.
"Just drink and be on your way."
"Come now, seems to me you might be welcoming a man home again after so many years abroad."
"Seems not long enough," Shannon drawled.
"A shame," Doogan murmured then took another drink. "To think I'd be unwanted in the place of me birth. We have more in common every time we meet, Irish."
The air in the pub seemed to go still as whispered conversations ceased. A fly buzzed about, its hum a small roar in the quiet that blanketed the room.
Torin refused to take the bait, or even acknowledge the other man's presence. Once, years ago, they had been friends of a sort. A great deal of blood and tears later, they were bitter enemies. The unspoken animosity hung in the air until every man felt the tension of it.
Doogan drained the pint in a third gulp and thumped the glass down on the smooth bar. "Another."
Shannon shook his head. "I said one drink and that's what you've had. On with you now, Doogan."
"I'm still thirsty," the Scot replied. "Give me another! I have the money." He pulled some coins from his filthy jacket pocket and plunked them down beside his empty tankard.
"Your money and your thirst are not something I care about," Shannon replied, eyes narrowed as he hefted the shillelagh up to the bar. Torin turned his head to see Doogan's eyes widen.
"Och, Shannon, there be no need for that. All I came for was a bit of whiskey, not a fight."
Torin laughed, unable to keep the bitterness at bay any longer. "All you know is the fight. Don't try and convince us otherwise."
Doogan narrowed his bloodshot eyes. "And you be the one to act so high and mighty on the subject, O'Brien? Maybe you're afraid I'll wipe the bar with that ugly face?"
"Ah, there it is," Shannon said as he slapped the club against one hand. "Give me a reason to use this, Doogan. Just one."
The other man held up both hands, a wide grin on his dirty face. "I'll be on my way. The whiskey here is more water than spirit, anyhow. I'll just be making my own in da's old still."
"You do that, Nick." Shannon glowered after the Scot as he left the pub, door slamming shut behind him. "Just why God saw fit to inflict that bastard on us again, I'll never know."
"Penance." The coins glimmered dully in the dim light. He sighed. "Some days it seems I'll always be seeking it, and those near me suffer right along."
Shannon tossed the club back in its place with a thud. "A round on the house, lads," he called, ever mindful of his duties. When the cheers died down and the pints had been passed round, he turned back to Torin and poured another shot. "Is that why you stay away from the colleens, then? You think you're cursed or something?"
"No, not that." Torin fingered the glass as he sought to put his thoughts into words. "Not a curse so much as tainted. Everything that happened, it can't be forgotten, Liam. Not in Clare and not by me. I wouldn't ask any woman to live with that hanging over us."
Shannon shook his head and began to wipe down the smooth, polished surface. "There comes a day each man must make peace with himself. Just don't be waiting 'til your life is near over to do it."
"Liam, you just said you wouldn't ask a woman to endure the stench and crude language of the publican life. How can I ask one to live as an outcast with a man everyone thinks a murderer?"
Again the conversations around them faded and someone cleared his throat. Torin cursed his own temper and wished he'd stayed home. At least he could be passed out drunk by now---alone to suffer the memories and dark temptations.
He glanced around the room, every pair of eyes dropped away before they'd meet his gaze. He sighed.
"Thanks for the whiskey," he said and reached into his pocket for another coin.
"Nay, you've paid enough, lad." Shannon's soft smile held a world of meaning, but Torin wasn't in the mood for sympathy. Somehow it made it all the harder to bear.
He turned and made his way out of the pub with one purpose in mind---to drink himself to oblivion once he got back to his own cottage. Torin stumbled into the dusty street and squinted against the last red rays of the setting sun. The edges of twilight made everything look gray and forlorn. Or perhaps it was just his mood. He set off toward home but changed direction and walked east. Soon the cliffs rose beneath his feet and he stood at the precipice with the ghostly memories that swirled around him in the chilling wind. The crash of waves hundreds of feet below seemed to beckon. Their rhythm pulsed in time to beat of the earth's own heart.
Were these the last sounds, the final moments of Brigit's life? What went through her mind, her heart before she plunged to the bottom of the cliff? She had feared them so. How had she taken that last step?
"Makes a body wonder."
He spun around, his pulse hammering in his ears as he faced the dark tormentor of his past.
"What are you doing here, Doogan?"
The other man took a step forward and Torin stiffened in response.
"Paying me respects," the man replied, then cast a shrewd look in his direction. "Much as I expect you be paying yours. Or is it guilt that brings you here, Irish? Are the ghosts haunting you this night?"
"The only thing haunting me is the hangover I'll have come morning." Torin turned and walked away, his back stiff as he braced himself for some kind of attack. It didn't come.
Several yards away, he heard Doogan's voice rise above the wind: "She'll be avenged, Irish. The murdered never rest in peace."
Torin hesitated, but moved onward just as he had for the last ten years. No, he could never ask a woman to share this lot in life---to live in the shadow of his sin, his blame. He hadn't pushed Brigit off that cliff, but it was his fault all the same.
His stride lengthened as he continued over the rocky ground and skirted around the sleepy town to his solitary home. His refuge. His hideaway. None but the ghosts ever visited there.
The rise and fall of his chest let her know he still held on to life. But as she watched her father sleep, Alaina couldn't help but wonder how much time they had left together. Tears burned in her throat and she rose to pace the small room, arms wrapped about her waist.
She hadn't slept well the night before with her mind in turmoil. Torin filled her thoughts as she replayed their conversation of the previous evening. They had been there less than two days and yet the house seemed empty without the Irishman's presence. Anger, sadness and fear all boiled within as their sparks seemed to ignite some other feeling she couldn't quite name. But the result had her as jumpy as a cat.
Her father had awakened little the day before and had been unable to eat more than broth. The fatigue of his illness and their long journey had finally caught up with him. Alaina spent much of the last two days at his bedside while he slept. Nerves frayed and at the breaking point, she held on to her sanity by a sheer thread of hope. Something deep inside her wanted to cry and scream all at once, and she feared she might step over the abyss into bedlam if something didn't change.
It had been so long since she'd let loose of her emotions. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd allowed herself a really good cry. A body needed a good cry now and then, her old nanny once told her. That had been when she was seventeen. James Sloan, her father's doctor, her first love, had gently explained why they could not be together. Why he didn't love her as a man loves a woman.
Her father murmured something in his sleep, his limbs jerked in chaotic rhythm. She stopped her pacing, afraid of waking him, and sank back down in the stiff wooden chair at his bedside. But deep within, her heart still raced as if caught in a whirlwind.
Afraid...always afraid. The fear had been a constant companion since the war had begun. It had become a part of her very being after that dreadful day.
She surged to her feet, unable to deal with the memories, unwilling to relive them while her father lay ill, perhaps dying. The doctor had said his condition was made worse because he'd lost his will to live. Patrick Ryan, the toughest scrapper in all of southern Virginia had lost his desire to survive. That in itself must be the greatest tragedy of the war that had torn her young country apart. So many simply gave up and resigned themselves to the horrors experienced on both sides. Better to cast blame and lie down in bitterness than to stand with the enemy and rebuild.
For many, there had been nothing to rebuild. Her father had been blessed that way and with the survival of his eldest son and only daughter. But the losses seemed to take just a bit too much of the sparkle from his light blue eyes.
"Alaina."
She turned to see him looking up at her, his eyes shadowed by fatigue.
"Daddy, I'm sorry," she murmured, her own smile in place as she swallowed back more tears and moved to his bedside. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't worry, love, I've slept long enough." He grimaced as he pulled himself up on the pillows. "Seems I'm sleepin' the day away. You shouldn't let me waste the morn this way."
She laid her hand on his brow and was relieved to find it cool to the touch. "You were tired, Daddy. I knew the journey had been difficult and Maggie felt we should let you rest."
He smiled softly at the mention of the woman's name. "Did she now? Well, I may be old and feeble, but I won't be lying around all day like a lazy hound. Help me up, inion."
She reached for his arm as he sat up in bed and threw his legs over the side. "Daddy, do slow down a bit."
"Ah, don't be treating like a babe. I'm fine."
"But still..." she protested as he stood and wavered to and fro like a reed in the wind.
"Now don't you be ordering your old da around, lass. As long as I've got a mind, I'll be doing as I please."
"As stubborn as ever, I see," a smooth voice observed from the doorway.
Alaina turned her head and smiled at Maggie, who stood with a tray in her hands. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I suppose not, with the old man fussing away." Again, the woman's smile and a soft twinkle in her eyes took some of the bite out of her reprimand.
"Go on Patrick," Maggie added as she moved to the other side of the bed and set the tray down on the dresser top. "Get back in bed and have your meal, then you can get up and about if you've still a mind to."
Her father frowned but did as ordered. "I'm not a child," he insisted.
"Nay, so then you should be knowing what's best. Nourishment first, then exercise. We can't have you fainting on us. The lass and I would have a devil of a time lifting you back up again."
He settled against the cushions, a brow raised. "And your lad? What's become of him?"
Maggie waved a careless hand in the air as she went about tucking the blankets around him. "Off to the old cottage. He's afraid of what the town gossips might say now that your lass has come."
"Is that so? And what is he so afraid they'll say, Maggie? I get the feeling much has happened that you never mentioned in your letters."
Maggie stilled for a moment, turned and lifted the tray of food to set it on his lap.
"There you are---all the things a body needs."
"Maggie?" he implored, catching one of her hands in his.
She sighed and moved away. "Torin led a rebellious youth. He and his father fought often."
"About what?"
She shrugged. "Everything, nothing. Mostly about the betrothal," Maggie admitted. "'Tis nothing personal, Alaina dear, but the lad hated to have his life laid out before him. He wanted choices, but he felt he had none. So he turned his back on it all and went his own way."
"Maggie, I'm sorry. I never realized."
"Aye, that I know, Patrick. It was Michael's thick skull that made most the trouble. The two of them were so much alike---peas in a pod. I think that's why they butted heads so often."
Alaina cleared her throat, her stomach clenching as she thought of how Torin must have hated her. "But surely...I mean I've heard many young men..." She hesitated. "...sow their oats. Why should anyone care what he does now, as a grown man?"
"Ah, if it had only been that," Maggie said with a sad smile, hands clasped before her. "There was a lass, a pretty young thing with dark hair and eyes. She was very gentle but came from a family of brutal, cruel men. As it happens, Torin took a shine to young Brigit. He thought he was in love."
A sharp pain lanced her chest. Alaina swallowed back the wave of bitter jealousy, quickly chastising herself for such weak-minded thoughts. It was long ago and had nothing to do with her. She hadn't even known of the betrothal until their journey across the sea. Yet somehow she still felt as if she'd been betrayed.
"What happened?" Her father's voice broke the silence.
"Michael refused to give Torin his blessing so they could marry. He had made a sacred promise to you, one he determined his son should fulfill. Torin set off to elope with the lass to Gretna Green. She..." Maggie's voice caught. "She never met him. They say she fell from the cliffs---was pushed. They found her body two days later and blamed him for it."
"No!" Alaina exclaimed. Now she understood his cryptic words last night: "... no matter what you hear...what others might say, please know I would never harm any woman..."
"They'd been seen arguing the day before and Torin...he's got a temper, sure," Maggie said. "But he did not kill the lass! Chances are she jumped from the cliff on her own. She was always a melancholy and forlorn sort. Not that anyone could blame her, with the life she led."
Maggie's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Of course they couldn't prove a thing, for he was innocent. I never doubted a moment. But gossip dies hard, if it ever does, and it takes little to rekindle the fires."
"Maggie..." Patrick shook his head and offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive me pickin' at old wounds. But now I think I understand the situation better. I can understand why the lad would refuse to marry. Must be a terrible burden he bears."
"Patrick, he would never harm a woman!"
"Of that I'm sure," he soothed. "He's got too much of his mum and da in him. As I told Torin, I hold no interest in what others say of a man. I'll make up my own mind of his character."
Maggie nodded, her lips pressed together in a tight smile. "Thank you," she said, taking his hand. Alaina suddenly felt like an intruder.
"Now then," Maggie said. "Eat up before the food goes cold. I'll be along to collect the dishes in a bit." She nodded to Alaina as she left the room and shut the door behind her.
Silence filled the room.
"Darlin'? What's going through that pretty head of yours?"
She smiled and tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.
"Come here, child."
Alaina obeyed and sat on the bed. Her father pulled her into his arms, her head pressed to his chest. The gentle rhythm of his heart soothed her; the rush of his breath filled her senses until she felt only peace lying there in her daddy's embrace.
"You don't believe the gossip, do you lass?" His voice rumbled against her ear.
"No, I don't." She lifted her head and straightened the tray. "He could never hurt a woman he loved. I know he couldn't."
He frowned as he reached with one thin hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "You've formed quite a strong opinion of the lad so quickly." He hesitated. "Alaina, I don't want to see you hurt. Perhaps this was not the best plan."
"He won't hurt me, Daddy."
He shook his head slowly. "No, not in anger...not by design. But darlin', you're so young. Your heart has never been tried or broken. I don't want you brought to such a thing now when the future is so uncertain."
She pushed away the memories and avoided his gaze. He must never know how deeply she'd been hurt or of the scars she bore---both physical and emotional. It had stayed hidden all these years and it seemed best to continue the deceit. What good would it do, after all? Alaina knew he would blame himself.
She forced a smile and cast her thoughts to better days; painful ones, but better. "I think it's bit late to concern yourself with that now that we're here." Sorrow filled his eyes and she cursed her own honesty. "Daddy, believe it or not, my heart has been broken. I'm not as innocent as you seem to think."
"Who is he?" he demanded, anger turning his face red as he struggled to sit upright. "Who dared to hurt my little girl?"
Alaina laughed. "It's been nearly seven years, and I don't think you want to duel James, now do you?"
His red brows rose in surprise. "James? My doctor, James Sloan? My friend?"
"Yes, that James," she replied. "I was quite in love with him when I was seventeen."
"He...what I mean to say is..." Her daddy swallowed hard. "James didn't hurt you, did he, lass? Did he take advantage?"
Alaina glanced away, afraid he'd see the half-truth in her eyes. "No, Daddy. James did not touch me. He only broke my heart. He wouldn't have anything to do with me because of his devotion to you."
"But, he's so much older then you, Alaina! You should have a young man, not one with a half-step to the grave."
"Listen to you!" she exclaimed. "What a terrible way to speak of a friend. Daddy, James isn't that old." Alaina stood and busied herself by tucking the blankets around him, unwilling to tell her father of James's recent proposal. "Besides, I'm four and twenty---that's far too old to concern myself with a husband or children. I have you and Michael to look after. I need naught else."
"Michael has his own wife now, darlin', and I...well, my days may be numbered. I can't stomach leaving you alone. You'd make some lad a fine wife. You mustn't be given up hope. Torin may change his mind, after all. He finds you quite the beauty."
Alaina felt a surge of anger she couldn't suppress as she straightened to face him. "I do not wish to marry, anyone. Ever! Why is that so difficult to understand? I have my own money, my family. I do not need a man's care or his rules. And I certainly do not need to endure the trials of pleasing him in bed!"
Her father's face showed his shock, but she bore on. "I am not chattel, Father. I am not a concubine or a kept woman and will never be made to feel as if I'm either. I am respectable and educated. I am of great worth despite the fact that I do not have a man's protection."
The stunned look on her father's face brought Alaina back to her senses. She glanced around the room, seeking escape, wishing she'd kept reign on the emotions she'd bottle up for years on end.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what came over me."
He chuckled. The sounds grew stronger until it filled the room like rolling thunder. Alaina stared, mouth agape as she watched her father. Tears streamed down his pale face as he rocked with laughter.
The door burst open behind them. "What's happened?" Maggie asked, somewhat breathless as she took in the scene. "Patrick?"
"Oh..." he sputtered, then began to cough. Maggie raced to his side and pounded on his back until the spasm subsided.
"Now do you mind telling me the joke?" the woman demanded.
He grinned and shook his head. "'Tis no joke, Maggie. Me inion has finally stood up to her old man. She's got that Irish fire in her after all."
"Well, saint's be praised!" Maggie exclaimed. "'Tis about time someone gave you what for. I'm just sorry I wasn't here to see it."
\*
Over the days that followed, Alaina and Maggie forged a bond of friendship that was immediate and strong. At times it seemed as if they had known one another forever.
While Alaina missed the plantation and her brother, her thoughts were kept occupied. She and Maggie spent hours on end talking. They did routine chores and took many long walks, in-between the hours they spent caring for her father. Continual exercise, fresh and good, hearty food were Maggie's best prescription. Before Alaina's very eyes, Patrick steadily blossomed with strength and renewed vigor. He hadn't seemed as happy or healthy in many years.
In Maggie, Alaina felt as if she found the mother's love she had always craved. Maggie seemed more than pleased to accept her tentative affection as she taught her to cook and tried to help her learn Gaelic, encouraging Alaina with her relentless optimism.
"Oh, I'll never get this right!" Alaina exclaimed one day as they washed and mended clothes together. The older woman had been trying to teach her a few Gaelic phrases, but Alaina's tongue tied in knots over the strange sounds.
"Now, lass, you can't be giving up so easily!" Maggie said. "Try again. Dia dhuit..."
"Jee-uh git?" Alaina tried.
"Almost, now let's try it once more. Listen carefully and repeat after me. Jee-ah..." Maggie enunciated each syllable.
"Jee-ah..."
"gwit..."
"gwit..."
"Aye! Good! Now repeat, all together... jee-ah gwit,"
"Jee-ah... gwit," Alaina said. "Dia dhuit!"
"Aye, very good, lass!" Maggie beamed with pride. "That's the way you greet someone, like saying hello."
"What does it mean, though?"
"You're really saying, 'God be with you'," Maggie replied. She bent over the washboard for a moment to scrub Alaina's fine petticoat against the rough surface. "It surprises me that your father never taught you his native tongue."
"Well, he wouldn't have dared," Alaina said as she concentrated on the mending in her lap. "Mother didn't allow it. She seemed to hate everything about Ireland...resented it for some reason. I never quite understood where her anger came from. When he spoke Gaelic on occasion, she'd give him a hateful look, turn her back and leave the room."
Maggie frowned, holding the garment up to the light streaming in the window. "I think I've got this good and clean. These filthy roads wreak havoc on a lady's fine clothes." With a sigh, she set about rinsing the petticoat under the pump at the kitchen sink.
"Sometimes, if the past is too much a burden, a body can come to resent the things left behind," Maggie said. "Perhaps your mother had a hard time understanding your father's attachment to his homeland."
"No," Alaina disagreed. "I mean, I don't think that was it---not completely. I have no idea why it would make her feel that way on any account. Ever since I can remember, my mother was not a happy person. She didn't like Virginia or Aveleen and she made no pretense about it. She always spoke of New Orleans and her life there. I think she missed her family terribly."
"That I can understand," Maggie said, rinsing and squeezing water through the cream-colored cotton. "I missed my folks something terrible when Michael and I first married."
Alaina frowned. "Aren't you from the area?"
Maggie laughed. "Nay! I come from a little village near Dublin."
"But how did you end up here?"
"Well, when I turned eighteen I got a wanderlust something fierce," Maggie said with a smile. "Determined to see the world, was I. So, my folks sent me to visit cousins near Ballyvaughn. I'm sure they were hoping I'd get tired of new places and want to come home again. That's when I met your father and Michael."
The revelation sparked Alaina's curiosity. "You met them together?"
"Actually, I met Patrick first at a ceili." Maggie laid the damp petticoat on top of a basket of washed clothing. "Patrick was the charmer, but in a quiet way. He was so shy that first evening, I was sure he'd never ask me to dance, and half-afraid he would. But when he did I had a grand time. No one could jig like Patrick Ryan."
Silence fell between them. Alaina felt Maggie's memories there in the room like silent ghosts that touched their lives, relived their dreams.
"What happened?" Alaina finally asked.
Maggie turned, her smile bright and warm. But it did little to conceal the tears glistening in her eyes. "I met Michael two weeks later. He'd just come back from England where he worked for a time. I knew the moment I looked into his blue eyes that I'd met the man I'd marry. Your father introduced us."
Alaina wondered at the tone of Maggie's voice, but the notion that crossed her mind seemed so unreal. Had her father and Maggie been more then friends once?
The wooden planks of the table blurred as her eyes filled with tears of regret and loss. What would it have been like, to have Maggie as a mother? How different might her life have been?
"Did...did you love all of your children, Maggie? I mean, equally, without reservation?"
Maggie sat silent for a moment, but she couldn't turn around and face her with that question lying between them. "Of course, lass. Some were easier than others and most had their unlovable moments, but, aye, I loved them all. They were each a part of me...and of Michael."
Alaina nodded. "Daddy is like that, too," she murmured. "He loved us all no matter what. My mother wasn't quite so forgiving."
Before Maggie could probe further, Alaina rose to her feet and gathered up the basket of wet clothes. "I'll just hang these out to dry," she said as she made her way to the back door.
When she came inside later, Maggie had finished up the rest of the laundry and begun to set things right for supper.
"Alaina, you've been cooped up in the house much too long. Why don't you get some fresh air this afternoon?"
"I couldn't leave Daddy."
"He'll be fine, lass. I'll keep an eye on him while you're gone."
"But---"
"Nay, I won't hear another word about it. We can't have you getting sick on us as well, can we now?" Maggie laid a warm hand on her arm and smiled. "I find fresh air and exercise are often the best cure for what ails you."
Maggie never ceased to amaze her. The woman had the keen instincts of one well acquainted with human frailties, yet, Alaina doubted the woman had any herself. Her gentle and forthright nature held a world of compassion.
"Thank you," she replied after a moment. "I think I will go out for a bit."
"Good. Follow the paths and you should be fine. The way west leads to the cliffs, eastward is the Burren. One or the other ought to make for a nice bit of exercise on a fine day as this. But mind the sky. A storm can brew quick and fierce."
"Thank you, I will," Alaina said with a smile and went to her room to change her slippers for boots. Minutes later, she strode down the broken pavements toward the western shoreline; her cloak billowed about like a massive shadow. She smiled up at the clear, blue sky, her heart lighter than it had been for weeks as her feet moved to the beat of her heart. Maggie had been right---this was so much what she needed. Time to think, air to breathe, quiet and peace beneath the warm spring sun.
At one point the path forked in two directions. One, the more worn, she thought must head into town. The other lay still, almost forgotten as plants sprung up from the cracks in the limestone slabs. She wondered if this were the more direct route to the cliffs she'd seen upon entering the harbor?
With a slight turn on her heel, Alaina struck out down the second path, her boots forging a new route as she walked over bright green seedlings and skirted around bunches of delicate flowers growing among the rocks and furrows. The path seemed to incline and each step became more labored. Her breathing more difficult and shallow; it was a while before she noticed the strong smell of the sea and the way the wind picked up force. It swirled around her like a dust devil as it clawed at the loose bun she'd twisted her hair into earlier. Soon she relented and reached up to remove the pins from her hair before they became inexorably entangled in the thick mass.
She could barely catch her breath by the time she reached the edge of the cliff. The sight that stretched out before her nearly made her lose it again. Hundreds of feet below, the ocean rolled forward to the edge of the deep blue of the horizon. Islands to her left looked like huge stepping stones lifted by giant hands and set, just so, in the churning white foam of the blue-gray waters. The cry of gulls filled her ears along with the rumbling pulse of the waves that crashed upon the rocks below. A soft, mournful sound punctuated the endless rhythm and it took a moment to realize it was the howling of the western winds.
She stood, mesmerized by the sights and sounds, filled with the earthy beat and fragrant aroma of the sea. This was what her father had tried to describe when she had always asked him of Ireland. These were the images, the feelings he had attempted to convey. And yet, he'd never come close. Alaina knew this was something that must be experienced for oneself. The feeling could never be captured by mere words.
"'Tis a fine view."
She jumped in her skin and spun about, heart pounding in her ears. The sight of his handsome face, gazing down at her with a guarded expression, did not calm the inner tumult. To her utter distress, Torin's presence had quite the opposite effect. Her heart raced faster, her stomach flipped and churned into an enormous knot and she found it difficult to breathe.
She stood alone, on one of the highest cliffs of all of Ireland with a man who some thought a murderer. But the only fear came from the thought that he might try to touch her and forever crumble the careful barrier she'd spent years forging around her heart. Alaina feared he might make her care, might make her hope for the one thing she may never have---a husband's love.
His eyes narrowed as she took a panicked step sideways. "I won't throw you off, if that's your worry."
For a moment his words, and the hurt behind them threw her into confusion. Then she realized what he must be thinking. "I know." She moved back toward him, eager to overcome her fear and banish some of the pain that lingered in his gaze. "I know you've never hurt any woman."
He searched her face, her eyes, like a man seeking the secrets of the universe. After a moment, he seemed satisfied with what he found. His shoulders dropped slightly beneath his heavy black coat, the tight lines around his mouth and eyes softened.
"Who told you?"
She shrugged, unsure if he'd be angry or relieved that she'd heard of the sordid business from his mother. "Maggie."
His brows rose and then he nodded. "Good. Then you heard the truth of it."
"I think so." She swallowed and moved a bit closer. "I'm sorry."
He frowned again. "For what?"
"For... for what happened." She glanced at her folded hands and searched for the right words, all the while knowing anything would sound trite or inadequate. "It must have been terrible to lose someone you loved and then to be blamed for it. I can't begin to imagine the pain it must have caused."
His gaze flickered away from hers and he stared out at the water, but she knew it was the past that he saw. "I did love Brigit," he admitted. "But it was the affection of a boy. A boy long dead.
"She was a bonnie lass---had a fire in her soul that burned hot and fierce. But these cliffs...they scared her so. I never understood how she took that last step. Or why." He swallowed hard. "I had nightmares for weeks thinking of her falling."
Alaina stood before him, speechless as his meaning sank in. "Are you sure she jumped?"
"'Tis the only explanation beyond me pushing her over."
It didn't make sense. "Is there...did anyone else have a reason to hurt her?"
"Nay," he said as he quickly shrugged off the idea. He looked at her and smiled softly. "If she'd had your strength, things would have been so different."
She wondered what had brought on that observation. "But, how can you know anything of the sort about me? We just met and we barely know one another."
"Yet, you know I could never hurt a woman. How can that be, Alaina?" He took a step closer. "How can you know something so important about me? How can you trust a man such as me? Aren't you afraid I'll lose control and toss you over the side?"
His gaze bore into her as he sought the answers in her eyes. Alaina blinked and turned away, unable to stand his scrutiny and proximity for another moment.
"I see what you mean," she replied, head bowed. "You can sometimes discern things about people even those with whom you are not well acquainted."
"I mentioned that once before, but you didn't seem to agree. Tell me now, Alaina, are you such a good judge of character?"
He stood at her side, so close that she could smell the sweet turf smoke that lingered on his clothes. The wind swirled, changing direction until it tugged at her hair, pulling long streams of it across her face to lash about her cheeks. She reached up a hand to push it back out of her eyes just as he reached up. Whatever his intention, it caught her unaware and she gasped, then swiveled to face him. His nearness sent a wave of heat spiraling through her body. There were flecks of gray in his green eyes and his pupils grew larger as she watched his gaze slip to her lips.
A fire burned low in her belly, her body swayed toward him with the relentless push of the wind. His hands went to her waist as if to steady her, but then he leaned down until his mouth hovered a hairsbreadth from hers. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and tried to move. Her limbs would not obey. What power was this that kept her spellbound---watching and waiting, even wanting him to take what she feared to give?
He blinked and let go of her as if the touch burned. "Time to leave, I think."
She nodded up at him dumbly, her mind and body disconnected. But she couldn't move until he took her arm and turned her away from the sea. The wind whipped her skirts about her legs as her hair flew in every direction. Nothing could be content for long within mere mortal confines on the cliffs. A spark of divinity, an air of magic dwelt in every inch of Ireland.
"Where are we going?" she asked as he steered her down the slope, but turned in a slightly different direction than she had come.
"Home," he answered, but said no more.
She allowed him to lead her toward the west. Soon a tall, rounded tower could be seen in the distance. It belonged to one of the castles so long ago abandoned and taken for granted by the inhabitants of the small village. The structures fascinated her almost as much as the man walking by her side.
"Tell me about the castle," she asked Torin as they drew closer to the ruins.
"'Tis known as the 'fort of the rounded hills' or the 'fort of the goats'." He glanced down at her and chuckled at her expression. "Aye, not very romantic. It was originally given to Turlough O'Brien many years ago but the seanachais have said it was here that Boetius MacClancy sentenced the Yellow Men to death. Their ships sank somewhere off the coast and the lucky ones to survive were brought here, only to be hung soon after."
"Yellow men?" Alaina asked with a frown. "Do you mean Chinamen?"
"Nay, Spanish sailors." He stopped for a moment in the shadow of the tower and tilted his head back to look up at the peak. "They were called that because of the color of their uniforms."
Alaina followed his gaze. "But why were they hung?"
He shrugged. "It was during the year of the Spanish Armada. Spain went to war against England and MacClancy was the High Sheriff of Clare. He had the enemy hung to prove his loyalty to the British. They say he was cursed every year on the Church steps in Spain for his murderous acts. When I was a lad, I often wondered if they still do."
"Were all the survivors hung?"
"Most, but not all. Many escaped by going north to Scotland, though I don't know how many made it home again. Others left on one of the vessels that had moored on Scattery Island." He smiled then, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "But the gossips do like to point out the number of dark-haired, dark-eyed children that littered the countryside soon after. They say many a lass found herself a husband that autumn."
Alaina tried to ignore his implication, and turned her thoughts to the events that might have taken place amidst the ruined walls so many centuries ago. She'd never been much for fairy tales and ghost stories. Her father often complained that she lacked an Irish soul because of her skepticism. Now, as she stood among the weather beaten stones that once formed Doonagore's proud structure, she began to feel a stirring of that Irish within. For a moment she thought she heard the whisper of voices from long ago.
"As a fact, my father is descended from a lass they say saved one of the Spaniards from hanging, but I've never known the whole truth of it." For a long moment the castle ruins held his attention as if he were engrossed in the weathered stone---or lost in stories of the past. "But one telling of it says her Irish lover actually saved the man---snatched him from the very gallows. It was his way to prove his love for her."
"Which man did she marry?" she asked, suddenly caught up in the tragedy of so many hundreds of years ago.
"The Irish one, naturally." His eyes darkened to slate. "Come. Let's be getting home before a storm breaks free."
She frowned in dismay---the few clouds visible were small, white and fluffy like balls of cotton. "It doesn't look like a storm to me."
"Then you're very short-sighted, Alaina." His grip tightened for a moment and then relaxed. She had the strongest impression that Torin desperately wanted to be rid of her. "The heavens aren't the only place for storms to brew."
Something in his voice hinted at a meaning she'd rather not contemplate. Not when they were alone and so isolated. His touch created a riotous sensation throughout her body; his voice sent shivers across her skin. How could one man set such unfamiliar feelings in motion despite their short acquaintance? She should leave Ireland, the sooner the better.
But how could she? Even if her father were better and able to return home, this place---this man---were becoming entirely too important to her. It seemed as if the slow, languid pace of life in Virginia had ill-prepared her for this experience. Yet she had always thought Ireland to be much the same in the tenor of living. Virginia had nothing to prepare her for her betrothed.
How could she ever leave this place that was becoming so much a part of her? She tried to push the doubts aside as they strode purposefully down the path to Maggie's. Once her daddy was well enough to travel home, her time here would come to an end. As would her acquaintance with the Irishman whose dark hair shown glints of copper in the sun, and whose eyes glistened like the deep gray-green waters of Galway Bay.
The thought left her cold and aching inside.
"You shouldn't be out wandering on your own," he said as they moved down the slope. "You could get hurt or lost."
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she retorted.
"Is that so?" The skepticism in his deep voice pricked at her pride.
"Yes, I've done as much for many years." There was no need to explain her past to him---the months on end spent dealing with the running of Aveleen when her brothers had gone and her father took ill. She refused to satisfy anyone's curiosity with the sordid details of life and survival in a time when the world had gone insane. Anger, devastation and abundant heartache were hardly worth remembering, though she knew they must if only to avoid repetition of the same mistakes.
"How did you survive, Alaina?" He spoke without slowing their pace and without even the smallest glance in her direction. Somehow he had divined her train of thought, a fact which disturbed her to no end.
"We did what we had to." She hoped that would be enough.
"Nay, I mean you personally. Men such as your father are better equipped for war. How did you survive?"
She bristled at his intimation and jerked to a stop to look up at him.
"Do you really believe women are the weaker sex?" she demanded. "We endure the pain of childbirth and raise those babies that are blessed to survive it. We alone are often responsible for educating the young, for running our homes with little or nothing. We provide comfort and companionship---particularly to those who are dying on the battlefields. How can you even begin to think us ill-equipped for war? It is because of us that men continue to exist despite their inclination to kill those with whom they disagree."
The look of astonished admiration that spread across his handsome face made her heart stutter.
"I believe I've misjudged you all these years."
She frowned. "How could you judge someone you never met?"
His mouth twisted into a grimace. "'Tis easy when you think yourself a martyr. But you've much more courage than me---or most men I've known."
"You flatter me, sir." A vague unease swept through her. She was not accustomed to compliments that moved beyond her obvious attributes of form and figure. "Either that or you have known many cowards."
He moved close and grasped her hands in his. His skin felt rough and warm around her cold fingers. "Are you afraid of nothing, lass?"
"I...I didn't say that."
"What frightens you?" She couldn't pull her gaze from his and he refused her attempt to extract her hands.
"What terrors sneak into your dreams?" he whispered. "What memories haunt you in the quiet of the night? Why do your hands tremble when I hold them in my own?"
She shook her head, desperate to move away but unable to make her body obey when he stood so close. "I don't...I can't tell you."
"Why?"
She licked her dry lips and heard him groan deep in his throat. "Do you know what you do to me?" he asked. "Do you have any idea?" She frowned in confusion and he chuckled. "Nay, I thought as much. But I can't let this go, Alaina. Tell me what you fear."
"I'm not---"
He raised a brow and shook his head, his grasp tightening on her hands. "Don't start lying now. It doesn't become you."
The heat of him reached out like a ray of hot August sunshine. She leaned toward him, seeking the warmth and light. Seeking the kiss she knew would quench her thirst. Seeking the touch that would warm her chilled flesh.
"You," she murmured. "I'm afraid of you."
"I'd never hurt you."
"No, but I'm afraid of what you make me feel."
He stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Ghostlike shadows flitted across his face and his gaze softened.
"We have much in common," he said. "'Tis a shame."
She wondered at his words and sadness in his eyes as they continued the walk to Maggie's. He said nothing more, although he kept hold of her arm as if he worried she might slip away from him at any moment.
By the time the cottage came into view, the sun had dropped level with the horizon. They found Maggie at the clothesline gathering dry garments. She shielded her eyes from the orange glow of dusk as they approached.
"Torin, lad? What are you doing here?"
"I'm happy to see you too, Mum."
Maggie laughed. "Of course you know my meaning. I didn't expect to see you again so soon." She glanced at Alaina and frowned. "Are you well, lass? You look a bit flushed."
She nodded but Torin answered before she could open her mouth. "We met at the cliffs and I escorted her home."
Maggie raised her brows. "Aye? 'Tis a gentleman I raised, to be sure. But I think the young lady is capable of finding her way home."
"Maybe so, but there are too many snakes about to be taking chances."
Alaina looked up at him in confusion. "But I thought there were no snakes in Ireland. Didn't St. Patrick---?"
"Only a figure of speech, lass," Maggie interrupted as she watched her son. "And just a legend to most."
"Oh, of course," she replied, feeling the fool.
"Will you stay for supper, lad?" Maggie asked her son.
"Nay, but I did want to see how your patient is doing?"
"Better but weak."
"Would you like me to fetch the doctor from Galway?"
"That's up to you, lass," Maggie said. "Would you like the doctor to take a look at your da?"
Alaina wanted to say yes. Anything would be better than helplessly watching her daddy slip away. But she was so tired of raising hopes only to have them shattered again and again. If her father's doctor couldn't do anything, what would be the point? What could any other physician possibly know that James Sloan or the multitude of specialists in Virginia did not?
"He's an educated man," Torin added, eyes narrowed. "Maybe not with a fancy office and leather case, but he does know how to care for the human body. He's not a veterinarian in disguise, if that be your worry."
"I didn't say---"
"You didn't have to," he interrupted. "The truth is plainly written on your face."
"I find that highly unfair," she insisted. Where had this anger come from so suddenly? "I merely wonder what good any doctor can do that his own could not? Hearts are the same all over the world or is there something unique about that particular organ here in Ireland?"
"Perhaps hearts here are a bit bigger and stronger than those that would allow one man to own another."
His words hit her like a slap in the face.
"Torin!" Maggie exclaimed.
Alaina blinked up at him as the tears stung behind her eyes. She should have known this would come up sooner or later. She should have expected it and been prepared. But it still hurt. It was an accusation she'd heard many times expressed in more deplorable terms.
But coming from this man, it somehow hurt all the more. There was no defense, only excuses, and in the last five years, she'd used them all up.
Alaina turned from him toward Maggie, unable to meet her gaze. "If you feel the doctor should be called, then please do so. I'll take any chance there may be to get daddy well."
"Of course," Maggie answered softly. "Torin, I believe you owe our guest an apology."
Alaina held up a hand. "No! Please, there's no need to apologize for the truth. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I'd like to see my father."
Head held high, she walked the short distance to the house, all the while hoping he wouldn't say another word let alone offer a false apology. Alaina wasn't sure how long she could hold back the tears if he spoke again.
\*
"What's gotten into you?" Maggie insisted as the door closed behind Alaina. Torin shook away the niggling guilt and looked down at her.
"Don't be giving me that defiant glare, Torin Patrick O'Brien!" she scolded. "One minute you're looking out for the lass like a knight in shining armor and the next you be casting stones at glass houses."
"I said naught but the truth, Mum."
"And I don't give a wit about such truth," she countered. "No child of mine will ever abuse another as long as I'm still about. You'd best mind your manners and consider that apology, lad. I've a mind to box your ears for hurting the lass so."
"Mum---"
"You've shamed this family before, but never by being deliberately cruel. I've never held the past over you, Torin, so don't be doing the like to that sweet girl."
Nay, it hadn't been fair. The desire and guilt had torn at him, until the need to push her away sparked anger at her smallest word. She was getting much too close to his heart---he'd quickly begun to lose any real reasons he might have to keep her at arm's length. Alaina had become the first thing he thought of when he woke in the morning, the last face he saw before his mind's eye at night. Hers was the form in his dreams, the warm hand in his, the soft skin he touched.
He could not forget the scent of her, the sound of her voice, the sweet protectiveness she exhibited as she defended him in front of his mother. Alaina was his heart's desire, and so he must push her away at all cost. He could not bear to ruin her life as he had ruined Brigit's.
But the hurt he'd seen in her eyes...
"I will apologize, Mum," he said with a sigh. "You're right, as always."
"Of course I am." She turned her back and headed toward the cottage. "Now take the basket and come inside for supper. I believe groveling is best done on a full stomach."
\*
They ate in relative silence at the kitchen table that evening. Torin couldn't keep from glancing at Alaina across the table, her eyes lowered as she delicately ate the roasted mutton and colcannon. The slip and slide of utensils over the tin plates set his nerves on edge, as did everything about the woman. He couldn't keep his mind off her. Didn't know how to banish her sultry image from his dreams.
"I believe Patrick would enjoy a visit before you head home again," his mother said as she rose to fill the pitcher with water from the pump.
"I'll do that," he replied, his gaze still fastened on the lovely face across the table.
"I spoke with Mary Kate early this morning," Maggie continued as she took her seat, oblivious to the tension in the room. "She tells me you've a plan to help Tom with his fences?"
"Aye, we agreed on it some weeks ago. Sean will be helping, as well."
It would be a grand way of getting himself out of temptation's path. A few days of hard, physical labor should banish any erotic fantasies from his mind---or at least tire him so he could never make them a reality.
"Good. She and I decided 'twould be grand time to hold the ceili for Patrick."
Torin's fork clattered against his plate.
"Ceili?" Alaina asked as she continued to cut her meat. "Isn't that like a party?"
"Exactly," Mum replied. "Only this time, we'll leave on Friday and not come back 'til Sunday evening or Monday morning, depending on how we're feeling."
Alaina's head jerked up, her mouth and eyes wide in surprise as her knife fell from her hand, bounced once on the table then dropped to the floor.
"Three days?" She glanced at him furtively and swallowed. "All of us?"
"Aye, if your da is able," Mum answered.
Alaina studied Torin for the first time since his insults in the yard. It was all he could do to take his next breath as he gazed into those fathomless brown eyes.
"I don't think we---"
"It can wait a week or two," he rushed in, heedless of what his mother might think. For some reason he couldn't let Alaina back out now. Torin needed her to say yes. It would be easier to look after her and still keep her at arm's length in the company of her cousins.
"Very well," she said and dabbed at her mouth with the edge of her napkin. "But I won't hold you back from your duties. If Daddy isn't well enough in a week's time, then you must go about your business."
"The business isn't pressing," he replied. "Tom's fences need mending, but he has plenty of fields for the lambs to graze. He can wait two weeks...maybe longer."
"Two weeks, it is," she agreed as she began to pick at her food again. "But if he isn't well, you and Maggie must go on without us."
"The whole reason for the ceili is to welcome you and Patrick," Maggie said. "There would be little use of having it if you didn't attend."
"Nonsense," Alaina replied. "There's always a reason for a good party."
"Here then, if Patrick is well enough two weeks hence, we'll have the ceili," Maggie decided. "If not...then they'll have to wait. But I'm thinking he'll be up and about very soon. All he needs is a bit of a push."
"I'll see what I can do," Alaina said as she stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'll have a word with him now."
"Have you finished eating, dear?" Maggie asked. "There's plenty left."
"Thank you, Maggie, everything is delicious as always." Her gaze flickered to Torin and back again. "I'm just not very hungry this evening. If you'll excuse me?"
"Of course, lass. You go on and I'll fix up a plate for Patrick."
Maggie shot Torin a look that would melt steel as Alaina left the kitchen. "Excuse me," he said and he rose to follow her into the hall.
"Alaina..."
She stopped at the bottom step, her shoulders stiff. "Yes?"
He walked to her, his heart like lead in his chest. Would she ever forgive him his cruel words?
"I need to tell you..." She turned then and the look on her pretty face made his breath catch. "The words I spoke earlier were mindless, panicked utterings. I beg you to forgive me. I swear to you I meant not a word of it---I have the greatest respect for you and your father. Indeed, for anyone that stands up for what they believe in."
She frowned slightly. "Your apology is accepted. But I don't quite understand. Why were you feeling panicked? About what?"
He stepped closer until he could feel the warmth radiate from her body in the damp hallway. He breathed in the scent of her soft skin and she looked up at him, eyes wide and dark.
"I fear you, as well---the way you make me feel, the things I long for when you're near."
"And what...?" She hesitated, her voice somewhat breathless. "What things would those be?"
He chuckled softly, somewhat amazed at her almost innocent, coy flirtation. Then he stepped even closer and bent near her ear. "I think of teaching you many things, lass. Many wonderous, passionate things."
His bold statement brought a gasp from her lips and she met his gaze for a moment---the myriad of emotions there made her eyes as dark as pitch.
"Go on," he said. "Quit playing with fire and see to your da."
She blinked and drew herself up. "I-I didn't mean---"
"Aye, that you did, lass. And 'tis good to know you're more a woman than I thought."
"More...? What did you think I was?"
"A child...a spoiled, self-centered babe."
"How dare---!"
He put a finger over her lips to silence the indignant protest. "I was misguided in my thinking," he admitted. "But I'm knowing better now." The feel of her soft lips beneath his finger set a hum through his blood. "I now know you to be a loving, compassionate woman. A woman any man would be proud to call his own."
The air hung heavy between them. Her sweet breath warmed his skin. When he pulled away from her, a tingle swept down his spine and she swayed toward him.
He took a slow step back. "You forgive me then?"
She blinked as if returning from a daze. "Yes, of course. I already said I did." The soft smile she gave him made his heart skip a beat. "Thank you, Torin." Then she turned and ascended the steps, disappearing into the dark hallway above.
He left the house and walked straight back to his cottage. The image of Alaina's face, the echo of her sweet voice accompanied him each step of the way. It would be a good night for dreams, he decided.
She pulled the silver-plated brush through her hair as she sat at the dressing table and stared at her own reflection.
"There's nothing for me here."
Her hand stopped in mid-stroke. Alaina could never marry even if Torin O'Brien changed his mind. The way he looked at her now---the fire that burnt deep within his gray-green eyes made her shiver from head to foot. But the thought of a man's hands upon her body made her tremble. Guilt and fearful memories such an idea evoked would never allow for intimacy. Besides, what if she was to marry? What if that union turned out to be a mistake in other ways?
The distant relationship between her father and mother had been both subtly and openly hostile and a source of pain for everyone at Aveleen. It had set the Ryan children on edge, made them fearful. They had never known when another argument would erupt. They had never known what innocent remark or question might stir the simmering anger that always dwelt just below the surface of their parents' marriage.
Her mind spun with the doubts, fears and endless questions to which there seemed no answers. Always it ended in the same realization---she would forever be alone. She slammed the brush down on the table and stood, her pulse thundering in her ears.
It was well past midnight and Maggie had long ago gone to bed. Her father rested comfortably in his room across the hall. The cozy chamber Alaina had come to think of as her own now felt stifling and hot. Whatever time of night, she could not bear to sit in it for another minute. There was no way she could fall asleep while in such turmoil.
She walked to the wardrobe and flung open the finely planed doors to reveal her dresses and grasped the first one---a dark green that had faded with time and wear. Its long sleeves and scooped neckline once considered the height of fashion, the gown looked dull and old. But what did it matter? It had been years since such frivolities had crossed her mind.
The walls seemed to close in around her---suffocating, confining. She paused for a moment as she wondered at the common sense of her plan, but bore on and discarded her robe and nightgown. The soft cotton slipped over her bare skin and Alaina pulled her stomach in to fasten the buttons up the front. She had lost weight since the dress had been made---baby fat melted away in the heat of war and the lack of abundance her family had once enjoyed. The gown fit without the help of a tightly laced corset. After sliding on stockings and soft, black kid boots, she crept out of the room, down the steps. Snatching her cloak from the peg in the hall, Alaina stepped into the cool, crisp night.
Not a cloud drifted in the cold black sky although it had rained for most of morning and afternoon. The air still felt damp, the grass squished beneath her boots. Alaina took care to step only on the stones that led from Maggie's door. An insistent, biting breeze tore at her cloak, pulling it away from her and creeping inside her thin dress. She shivered; the cold felt invigorating. It might help her think.
Alaina hesitated at the end of the walk, glancing up and down the road and wondering where she should go. To her left, the primitive path led to Fisher Street, the heart of Doolin. Several yards to her right, the road forked. One branch headed north, the other south. Torin had brought her down the road from the north when he'd met them at Ballyvaughn. The other branch went south, back behind the house, and skirted around the village as it curved in a wide arch to the west.
Alaina decided on trying the route she had not yet taken. Heading south, she soon found herself in the open countryside. The darkness did not worry her. The waxing moon shone down upon her and the surrounding landscape. In the moonlight, the Burren took on an eerie, silver color. The gray limestone slabs stretched ghostlike across the valley, the sight sending a shiver up Alaina's spine. The breeze grew fainter, yet stretched out its thin, icy fingers to caress her face beneath the hood of her dark cloak.
After several minutes, she turned toward Maggie's house. It was no longer within sight. She had walked much further than she realized. She hesitated, wondering if her impulse was foolish. Should she head back to Maggie's or continue onward, to risk becoming lost?
Thinking again of her room and the suffocating loneliness she had been feeling, Alaina threw caution to the wind and continued her trek. At first she took careful steps to avoid catching her heels in the deep cracks of the pavement.
The stillness and absolute peace soon calmed her troubled nerves and quelled any doubts. After a time, Alaina walked leisurely across the Burren, little noticing her surroundings. Her mind filled instead with memories of the past months. So many things had changed her life and her very purpose in it.
She thought of James Sloan---his gentle gray eyes and warm sense of humor. Alaina sighed as she tugged the cloak closer. Why couldn't she now feel anything more than a sisterly affection for the man? It would make life so much easier to return to the safety of Aveleen and accept his proposal, though she knew he had offered it only to spare her from spending a life alone once her father died.
James understood her fear, knew her secret. Perhaps, in time, he could help her overcome the past. Perhaps they could find a way to live as husband and wife---at least they had years of friendship to rely upon. She had once cared for the man with a young girl's infatuation. Wouldn't that be enough?
As her thoughts turned to Torin, she wondered again about his first love. The poor girl, destined for tragedy, her life seemingly designed for sorrow. But how had she taken that last step? How had she thrown herself into the black sky and to the rocks below? What could possibly cause such desolation to send someone to choose their greatest nightmare over perhaps a moment of turmoil?
Yes, Alaina understood such distress---had felt it herself during the war. But there had always been the hope, the small seed of faith that somehow, someday, things would get better. She thanked her father for that.
The sky was black and peaceful. The small sparkling stars winked down at her from their velvet spread. She gazed up at the moon, almost full now, and took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with the fragrant spring air. The biting cold seeped into her chest painfully before she exhaled.
Without warning, the ground gave way. Her left ankle twisted under her as she collapsed to the icy, hard limestone below.
Her cry of pain and fear was swallowed in the still air, the mountains too far distant to echo the sound. For a moment Alaina lay there, her leg bent beneath her before she rolled to her side and looked down. She suddenly understood. In her rambling reminiscences, she had forgotten to watch her step over the pavement. The heel of her boot had been caught in a narrow crevice between the stones.
She tried to move her foot, but the pain in her ankle shot through her body. Biting her lip, she stifled the scream that threatened to erupt from her throat.
First, she decided, the best thing to do was to free herself from the crevice. Then she would have to figure out the rest from there. Reaching down, she tugged at the heel wedged within the cracked limestone. When it did not loosen, Alaina yanked harder but it didn't move. She wrenched at her foot again and the movement sent a flash of pain through her leg and brought tears to her eyes. Alaina sat very still and rested for a moment until the sensation calmed to a stabbing ache.
If the boot couldn't be freed of the rock, then she would have to free her foot from the boot. That logical conclusion left her feeling satisfied and she began to work at undoing the laces with her left hand, leaning on the other to keep herself sitting erect. It was a slow process because of the awkward position. Numbing cold seeped into her fingers. Finally, when the ties were undone and the laces loosened as much as she could manage, she tried to slide her foot out. It would not budge.
She yanked harder. Another engulfing pain shot through her body at amazing speed, bringing fresh tears to her eyes and an involuntary yelp of pain. She cautiously touched the entrapped ankle. It had already swollen to at least twice its normal size. Short of actually cutting the leather from her foot, there was no way she could free herself alone. She glanced around her for something sharp enough to saw through the pliant black leather. There was nothing in sight.
Panic crept in with the icy cold, but Alaina mentally beat it down again. She was not completely successful. She looked around, scanning the deserted landscape. In the distance, maybe half of a mile off, she noticed a glimmer of yellowish-orange light. At first, she thought it must just be another star on the distant horizon. Focusing her gaze, Alaina rationalized that it could not be a star since the shadow of one of the smooth hills rose up behind it, outlined in the moonlight.
Her heart leapt with new hope. There was a cottage only a few hundred yards away and someone was there with a fire burning in the hearth.
"Hello!" She lifted her voice, but it seemed to be swallowed in the dark, vast void of the night sky above her. "Hello!" Alaina's desperation raised her voice to a fevered pitch and she waited for some kind of response.
Still, nothing, not even the echo of her own cries answered her. Alaina sat in the stillness and felt tears form again, the panic lodging in her throat until she thought she couldn't breathe.
They would never find her out there in the dark. No one would hear her cries for help and in the morning, perhaps not even for a day or two, some poor traveler would happen along to discover her cold, lifeless form still imprisoned by a sheath of leather wedged deep within the limestone.
It seemed such an inglorious way to die that Alaina found a new surge of strength. She had survived war and poverty---she would not be brought under by a ridiculous accident.
"Help!" She screamed, one last time, before collapsing in defeat against the icy limestone that shone cold silver in the moonlight. The biting temperature of it penetrated her clothing. It seeped its way deep within her skin as it reached to her very bones. Lying on her side, Alaina closed her eyes and tried to think of what to do next.
"Don't panic," she ordered herself aloud. "There is always hope. There is always a way." She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
The only thing left to do was to break the heel off the boot. Bracing herself for the jolt of pain that must come, Alaina struggled to sit again. A noise in the distance caught her attention. Alert with fear, she stared off into the darkness. She imagined that one of the shadows was moving nearer---images of wild animals brought panic. She filled her lungs with air in preparation for a tremendous scream.
"Hello?" a voice called. "Is someone there?"
Alaina expelled the air in a rush of relief. "Oh, yes, over here! I've twisted my ankle and---"
The rest of her words were forgotten as the figure came nearer and the moon shone fully upon the concerned face of Torin O'Brien. He recognized her at the same moment, standing frozen in his tracks for a twinkling before running forward to kneel on the cold ground.
\*
"Alaina!" he breathed, touching his palm to her icy cheek in wonder. "What are you doing here? What happened?"
The voice had been familiar but he could not believe it was Alaina until he saw her face. She looked both relieved and shocked at the same time. Moonlight reflected off the tears overflowing her dark, luminous eyes. Her cheek felt smooth and cold against his skin. Her hair looked as black as night under the moon and stars. The silky tresses cascaded down her back and over her shoulders as she looked up at him.
God in Heaven, she was beautiful.
He found it hard to breathe. Torin had not been able to sleep. The dreams had come again. Each time her image visited him in the night the visions grew more and more vivid, intimate and erotic until he dreaded falling asleep, knowing he would dream of making love to her again. Yet, in wakefulness, she was still all he could think of. Now his vision lay before him as real and tangible as any temptation.
"I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk." The words tumbled off her tongue while tears streamed down her cheeks. She shivered. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." She motioned to her foot. "My boot's caught. I've twisted my ankle."
Torin saw the look of trust in her eyes, then the shame, before she looked away. He thought he could sense her withdrawing a bit. He smiled, knowing all too well how it felt to be made the fool.
Leaning over her, he ran a hand over her ankle and the boot that held her prisoner. When he tried to move the shoe sideways, she yelped in pain. He looked up at her with a grim smile. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you more if I try to force it loose. Let me go back to the cottage and get a knife. I think I can cut you out of it."
Alaina grasped his hand as he began to rise.
"'Tis all right, darlin'." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I'll be but a moment."
Soon he knelt back at her side with a large knife in his hand. Moonlight danced off the blade as he moved it, sliding the sharp edge between the leather and her flesh.
"Now hold very still, so I don't mar that pretty skin of yours." He kept his tone light despite the way his blood thrummed through his veins. Alaina's posture relaxed a little. A soft rip and the boot tore free. He lifted her foot carefully from the shreds. "There you are, darlin'. Does it hurt?"
She shook her head. "No, it did but now I can't feel much of anything."
Torin glanced down at the slender foot he held in his hands and frowned. "Let's get you to the cottage and I can take a better look at it."
Kneeling beside her, he reached down and scooped her up into his arms before rising to his feet. She gasped and her hands entwined about his neck.
Torin felt her fingers delve into the hair at his nape. He swallowed hard, struggling with his thoughts and the desire to crush her body to his. Every moment with her was filled with a tingling excitement that ignited a primal desire and need to possess. He longed to protect her as well---if even from himself. But the wanting would soon get the better of him.
He could feel the warmth of her breath at his throat. Never before had the nearness of any woman set his soul afire. Even during his wild youth when beautiful girls had been plentiful and willing, Torin could not remember teetering so close to the edge of self-control.
He tried with little success to will his thoughts to a less dangerous path. Once he allowed his gaze to wander to her face, then down to the swell of her breasts where her cloak had fallen open. Shimmering moonlight glowed off her skin above the low neckline. He longed to bury his face against the smooth whiteness that beckoned him---to breathe the scent of her deep within in his lungs until it became a part of him. A wave of heat suffused his face and he quickened his pace.
Torin reached the small house and eased her through the doorway, ducking his head as he made a conscious effort not to bang her foot on anything. Once inside, he kicked the door shut behind them, moving on to a large chair beside the hearth. Easing Alaina down onto the chair, he knelt beside her and lifted her leg, one hand resting beneath her calf while the other examined the bruised and swollen ankle. She drew a sharp breath and his hands stilled.
"Did that hurt?" he asked.
"A little," she answered and cleared her throat.
Torin probed the tender flesh gently until she flinched, her fingers digging into the arms of the chair. He cringed at the pain he was causing.
"Can you move your foot at all?" he asked. Only sheer force of will kept him from gathering her into his arms then and there. The skin beneath his hands turned from red to purple as he watched.
Alaina attempted some motion and cried out in pain.
"All right, darlin', try wiggling your toes then," he instructed. This she did without incident and offered him a genuine smile.
Torin sighed and reached for a footstool with one hand, the other still cradling her calf gently, and slid the stool beneath her extended foot. He knew he should stop touching her, but couldn't. Her cool skin felt soft as silk beneath his hands. The urge to let his hands wander...up her smooth leg, deep beneath the hem of her dark green dress and further. He could think of little else but discovering the secrets that allowed this woman such a hold over his thoughts.
Once her foot was propped on the stool he removed his hand and sat back on his heels. "I don't think the bone is broken. But we'll have to wait 'til the swelling goes down a bit to be sure."
He saw a myriad of emotions flit behind her dark eyes. They seemed almost black except for the reflection of the fire dancing in them.
"I'll get a bucket of water and you can soak in it a while." Torin had to get away from her. He couldn't think. He was afraid she'd hear the pounding of his heart. He was afraid the growing desire would be all too evident in his eyes and elsewhere. Without another word he stood and left the cottage, leaving Alaina alone.
Getting water from the turlough had been a good excuse. He did not think the ankle was broken, and the cold water would help bring down the swelling. With bucket in hand, he stood at the edge of the water and stared at the silver disc floating on the surface of the dark shallow lake. He stood there for quite a long time, as he desperately tried to stifle his longings.
Once the fire raging in his blood seemed to cool, he bent over and dragged the bucket through the icy water. Ripples spread across the still surface. They grew and expanded across the lake, splintering the moonbeams into a thousand shimmering silver lights. Torin watched for a moment as the effect faded and the lights reassembled, their motion dying as the water stilled. The moon again shone round and full on the lake. Then he drew in a deep breath and returned to the cottage.
She was leaning back in the chair when he returned, her eyes closed. "Here we go," he said. She jumped in her seat and Torin chuckled. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. The water's nice and cold. Let's get your ankle soaking, shall we?"
He set the wooden bucket on the floor in front of her chair; some of the water sloshed as it settled. Ever so gently, Torin guided her foot into the water. Alaina gasped and shivered.
He then went to the bed to the far right of the hearth where he took hold of a thick wool blanket. When he bade her to lean forward, she obliged, and he draped the rough material around her shoulders.
"Thank you," she murmured, fingering the bright, hand-woven wool.
"You're welcome. Can't have you taking a chill now, can we?"
After a slight hesitation, he pulled one of the wooden chairs from the table and set it across from her, the back of it facing her. Straddling it, his gaze flickered from her face to the fire and back again.
"I shouldn't be here," she whispered.
Torin looked at her. The corners of his mouth quivered as he tried to hide a smile.
"True enough," he replied.
Alaina sighed. "What I mean is...I'm sorry to put you to such trouble. It isn't proper at all, my being here, alone with you."
He nodded and stood to tend the fire. The weight of her stare made him feel like a young buck with his first love. He hated that feeling---the unease and self-conscious nerves that seemed to stop all brain function.
"How long have you lived here?" Alaina asked suddenly. Apparently he wasn't the only one ill at ease.
"I grew up here," he said and waved a hand to encompass the room. "The seven of us crammed in together. My two brothers and I shared a bed here in the main room, my sisters had one of the small rooms and Mum and Dad the other. The cow, chickens and assorted animals stayed at the other end in bad weather."
"The animals?" Her eyes grew even wider. "They lived in the house with you?"
He chuckled. "Aye, Alaina, that they did. Of course, growing up, it didn't seem strange. Once I went off to Dublin and saw a bit of the world, well, it just wouldn't do to my way of thinking. When my dad died, your father rented the small parcel of land and had a house built. Michael O'Brien wouldn't accept charity on such a grand scale, but Mum is more practical.
"Since she was alone then, I asked for a leave of absence from the school where I taught. I had to make sure she was going to be all right on her own. That was when I moved in here and built the stable for the horse. I'd had enough of byre dwellings to last a lifetime."
"So, you decided to stay here permanently?"
Torin shook his head. "Nay, I planned on going back east again. But things take time..." He glanced at her. "And then your letter arrived."
Maybe it was time she knew the whole truth.
"The house---Mum's house---it's meant for us, Alaina. You and me and our children. The only provision was that Mum would have a room of her own there once we married if she so desired. He wanted to be sure she was always taken care of. Your father always made sure my family was looked after."
Alaina stared at him as a dozen thoughts washed over her face. He wondered if she knew---if she understood it all, yet.
"I'm glad he was able to help you," she said.
Torin smiled. "It was your father's generosity that kept us alive during the last years of the famine---though it didn't affect us as hard here in Doolin as other places. Not at first. Our landlords were Irish and a bit more patient. We did take Patrick's help, though. Even my dad's pride wouldn't let him watch his wife and children starve. Patrick did everything he could to make sure Mum never had a worry. Even after Dad's death."
Alaina sat a bit straighter and he could see the light of recognition in her eyes. There. Now she understood it all.
"He loved her," she whispered.
At some point Patrick had been quite sure of their fate, their compliance with his wishes. He had even planned for it by having a house built. Yet the man had never found his own heart's desire. While he loved his own father, it made Torin sad to think of Patrick Ryan loving a woman whose heart had belonged to his closest friend. A man he considered dearer than any brother.
Suddenly Torin thought of what it might be like to lose Alaina and his gut knotted. She must have been deep in thought to have been caught in such a predicament. Given his own past experience with love and her fearful reactions to him, he assumed those thoughts must be of only one thing---another man. The idea didn't settle at all well.
"I'm wondering whose face filled your thoughts tonight, Alaina?"
She looked up at him, her smooth brow furrowed. "What makes you assume I was thinking of a man?"
He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching. Alaina's frown deepened. "What's so funny?"
"There's a full moon, the Burren and the pavements are well lit tonight, so I'm assuming whatever thoughts have kept you awake and led you on this midnight stroll must be of great importance." He smiled. "And, Alaina darlin', I'm doubting that anyone who could cause you such distraction is another female. You've got love on your mind."
She turned back to the hearth. The thought that another man wanted her made him angrier than he'd care to admit. But he had no right and to be sure he could not let her see the jealousy she ignited. Alaina did not wish to marry him and he would not be humiliated in front of her.
She looked back at him then and raised her chin at a defiant angle. "His name is James. Dr. James Sloan."
He clenched his fist and ground his teeth for a moment before gaining control. "Go on," Torin said as he stoked the fire. "Tell me about him."
"James is a friend of the family," she replied, her voice tight. He searched her face for clues hidden beneath the words.
"My father met him years ago. I think James was about fourteen at the time. He was alone, lying half-dead alongside the road somewhere. Apparently he'd been roaming the countryside for two or three years doing odd jobs for food and shelter until he ran out of luck. Daddy took him in, helped nurse him back to health and James stayed.
"He helped build Aveleen and farm the land until we had enough slaves to do the work. He was there when I was born. He was always there. Then when he was old enough, my daddy helped him go to medical school. James always said he decided to be a doctor the night I was born."
"You were in love with him," Torin stated.
"Yes, when I was seventeen. He was handsome and kind when everything around me turned cruel and ugly. When my older brother, Michael disappeared, my parents just vanished within themselves for a while. My younger brother, George, was on fire with revenge and was so restless. James took care of us for a while. He tried to make life normal again. He tried to shield us from the war. Yes, I loved him."
She smiled. "But he was so distressed when I stopped calling him 'uncle' that year. He never understood why."
"He was a fool."
Alaina looked back at him. "There's nothing foolish about James. He's the kindest, gentlest, most caring man I've ever known. To him I was merely a child; of course he wouldn't have seen how I felt. I didn't let him. I doubt he even considered I could feel such things. If it hadn't been for his wife then maybe---"
"Wife?" he interrupted, sitting forward to stare at her. A married man had trifled with her affections? "You were in love with a married man?"
"No! It wasn't like that!" Her tone was indignant as the flicker of anger in her wide eyes turned into a raging fire. "He was a widower. His wife died when I was seven. They'd only been married less than a year and she died giving birth to their son. The poor babe was lost, too. James was devastated. It tore him apart. My daddy spent months convincing him to get on with his life and go back to school. He did, finally, but James never even looked at another woman." Her expression took on an almost dream-like quality. "She must have been so wonderful, for him to love her like that and grieve for her for so many years."
Loving a woman for years after her death? Torin knew of such things---knew of the guilt that made a man want to die along with the woman he loved. Knew the suffering that could nearly blind a man's heart to all else. But that had been years ago and he had been just a boy. Now he felt more keenly, more deeply with the damaged heart of a man.
What kind of pain would losing Alaina deal him now?
"How dare you even suggest something so sinful?" Alaina railed, eyes flashing with anger as he sat, stunned with a realization that hit hard and made him weak. He loved her. God help him, but he'd fallen in love.
"How could you think I would set my cap for a married man?" she continued, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. "The whole idea is repulsive and insulting."
She moved as if to stand and he leapt forward, toppling his chair in the process, and grabbed her in his arms as she started to fall.
"Mind your ankle," he admonished. Torin's senses went on full alert as he gathered her close and held her. "I didn't mean to imply---I'm sorry, Alaina."
She gazed up into his eyes and he felt her ridged body soften in his embrace. He lifted her from her feet and sat down again in her chair with her in his lap as she looked at him in wonder.
For a moment he forgot the past and the future. All he could think of was the woman sitting in his lap. Nothing else mattered. He understood now the recognition that sparked between their souls on the dock at Ballyvaughn. They were created for one another.
Neither of them spoke. The air hung heavy between them. The attraction had become too much to ignore.
She stared at him, her breathing short and shallow as her eyes clouded. He knew what she was feeling, even if she did not. He knew how to satisfy the fire that smoldered in those amber depths. How he wanted to satisfy them both...here...now.
He claimed her mouth in a gentle kiss---a sweet kiss borne of tenderness and wrapped in control. But it produced the spark he had dreaded and soon scorched his last visage of self-restraint. Her soft hands on his face were his undoing---the ardent acceptance of his lips on hers, his breaking point.
Alaina moaned softly as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her more deeply into the kiss. He stroked the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened for him, allowing him to delve into the sweet recesses of her mouth. She gasped and pulled away a little before he coaxed her back, closer, deeper.
Her fingers threaded through his hair and Torin felt the weight of her bottom pressed against him. The sensation increased the flow of blood to that region as his body hardened with need and desire.
Thought became hazy as lust took over. The feel of her curves beneath his hands...the scent of her hair...the small sounds of pleasure she made as his tongue dueled with hers were all his undoing. All he knew was her touch, the feel of her, the need that rose until the feral beast within demanded he take her. Now. His woman. She had been given to him. Why not take what had been dropped at his feet?
Then her soft sigh of acceptance, her sweet, innocent trust as she all but melted into him did what no amount of cold water or self-righteous denial could. It tamed the beast and sent it slithering back to where it belonged.
Torin pulled back from her, his hands gentle but firm on her flushed face as he broke the kiss. "Forgive me," he muttered, his voice still thick with passion. He leaned his forehead against hers and fought to control his ragged breathing and the roar of blood through his veins. Other parts of his anatomy protested as he pulled away.
"What for?" she asked as she blinked her clouded eyes in confusion.
Torin sighed. "For taking advantage. You're far too innocent for your own good, lass."
That seemed to shock her out of her daze. "I am not." He raised a brow and her face turned scarlet. "I mean..." She cleared her throat. "You say it like it's something to be ashamed of when it's not. You were the one that started this..." She waved a hand between them and glanced away, arms folded over her middle.
When she wiggled as if to stand, Torin tightened his arms about her to keep her in place. Not only would she fall on that bad ankle, but he didn't want her to notice the full effect she had on him just now. He wasn't sure of the extent of her education regarding the ways between a man and woman, and had no desire to be the one to explain.
"'Tis not what I meant, Alaina," he said softly. "Innocence is a grand thing---something you should hold onto for dear life. Don't be giving it away too quickly." He traced her soft lips with his fingertip and found the sensation mesmerizing, intoxicating.
But he couldn't let it happen again. Next time he would not be able to stop. "I'd best get you home to Mum." He stood with her in his arms. "I haven't got a carriage, I'm afraid. You'll have to ride Declan with me."
She wound her arms about his neck, keeping her gaze lowered so that he couldn't see her eyes. Torin carried her outside to a small stable where the black gelding awaited snorting and stamping his hooves. He set her down on a stool near the door as he opened the stall door and let the horse emerge. The beast waited patiently as Torin saddled him for the ride. There was nothing Declan loved better than a good run across the Burren.
When Torin lifted Alaina and carried her to the horse, he again reveled in the encompassing warmth of her soft body against his lean, hard muscles. He couldn't help enjoy the close physical contact with her, despite the way his conscience prodded him at every turn.
"What a beautiful animal," she whispered, gazing at the horse with open admiration.
"Aye, that he is---and a stubborn one, too, but brave," Torin said. "He was gift from a man I went to the university with. He moved back to England after a year and made his fortune. Later he sent Declan to me. I raised him from a colt. We understand each other. We trust each other."
Lifting her up onto the saddle he then mounted the horse behind her. With one hand Torin held the reins as he wrapped his other around her waist, pulling her back against him.
"Are you warm enough, darlin'?" She nodded and Torin nudged the horse with his heels to a walk. They were off, back across the Burren. At first, she sat almost ridged as if she feared their closeness, but soon he felt her body relax into his. The soft curve of her bottom settled more firmly against his thighs and he had to clench his jaw not to moan out loud. The rhythmic movement of the horse lulled her to sleep while it did very erotic things to his own body.
He felt her going more and more limp in his arms. Alaina sank further against his chest with a sigh. He kissed her hair, breathing the scent in deeply as the soft strands brushed against his chin.
All too soon they were back at his mum's house. Torin kissed her silky hair again before dismounting. Then he reached up to Alaina who sat swaying in the saddle; her eyes still half-closed as she drifted on a plain somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Sliding her down and into his arms, he cradled her.
Torin was rewarded as she slid her arms about his neck and pressed her cool forehead against his throat. For a brief moment, he stood there holding her in his arms and just enjoying the closeness. The interlude was short as Maggie appeared anxiously in the doorway. Torin sighed and moved up the walkway to enter the house, his mother hovering beside him.
"What happened? Where has she been?" Maggie demanded.
"Shush!" Torin warned her quietly as Alaina stirred in his arms. "You'll wake her, Mum. She's just twisted her ankle. I think she'll be much better by morning. Come help me get her to bed. She's exhausted."
As he led Maggie up the stairs she continued speaking. "I woke up around one o'clock and noticed her door was open but she wasn't in the room. At first I thought she had gone downstairs, but when I couldn't find her anywhere, I didn't know what to think!"
They entered Alaina's room, Maggie brushing past her son in order to turn down the blankets.
"Apparently she couldn't sleep and went out for a walk..." Torin began.
"At this time of night?" she questioned. "How did she hurt her ankle? How did you find her?"
Torin bent to lay his parcel on the bed.
"I'll tell you everything later, Mum. Let's get her in bed first and we can talk downstairs."
As he tried to stand, Alaina tightened her grip, moaning in protest.
"Alaina, darlin', you can let go now, you're home and safe," he whispered near her ear, but her hold on him only tightened further. "Alaina..."
Gently he tried again to pry her arms from around his neck, but she was very determined even in unconsciousness.
"No," she murmured, pulling him down to her. "Don't leave me, Torin."
His heart lurched at her request. With a sigh, Torin sat on the bed beside her, unwound her arms from about his neck and placed her soft hand protectively beneath his own. Maggie raised her eyebrows and looked at him, one corner of her mouth twitching as if she tried to suppress a smile.
"She'll be deeply asleep soon, and then I can slip away without waking her," he said, his tone a little defensive.
The wise woman looked at him and smiled. "All right, lad. You do what you have to. I'll wait for you downstairs. And mind you remember where and who you are!"
Torin frowned at her as she turned to leave the room. His mother could be so exasperating, yet she understood him too well and likely discerned what he was feeling. Maggie O'Brien knew him better than he knew himself, of that he was sure.
Alaina stirred against him and he looked down at her peaceful face. How would it be to awake with this angel in his arms every morn? To have her sweet smile be the last sight at night? But how could he ever prove himself worthy of her?
Torin's patience was rewarded and he felt her grip loosen. With some reluctance he untwined her fingers from his and stood. She made a small sound of protest in her sleep, then tucked both hands beneath her cheek with a soft sigh.
Removing her remaining boot he then pulled the covers over her still frame. He watched her sleep for a minute. He memorized the way her chest rose and fell; her serene countenance; her dark auburn hair spilled across the white pillows.
\*
"I discovered something tonight, Mum." He twirled the warm dark liquid, waiting for her to respond. When she didn't, he sighed. "I've realized that I've come to care for Alaina."
Maggie's cup hit the table with a thud and he grimaced. Here it came---the lecture about integrity all the things he had told himself over and over again these past months.
"Saints be praised!"
He looked up at her, mouth gaping.
"What?" Torin shook his head. "You...aren't you upset or disappointed in me?"
"Of course not, lad!" she said, patting his arm across the table. "I'm relieved. I was so afraid you'd send the lass away despite everything. Just like your father, you are---head as thick as a clint and pride as wide as the ocean!"
Torin couldn't believe his ears.
"Now, don't you be looking at me like that, Torin! You would have lived your life alone and miserable. That 'twas something I could not endure."
He sat staring at her, shaking his head. "But if you felt this way all along, why didn't you say something? Why didn't you try to talk me out of it?"
Maggie looked heavenward and sighed. "And just what should I have said?" she asked, fixing her son with a hard stare. "How could I possibly have told you I thought you were being too hard on yourself and acting like a stubborn fool? Och! 'tis sure you would have stuck out that chin and wrapped that smothering pride around you like a shield. All for the sake of appearances! All for the sake of your precious honor and integrity!"
"Now just a minute, Mum!" he said. "Integrity and honor are important in a man."
"No less so in a woman!" Maggie countered. "But what kind of integrity have you got, lad, when you're doing the exact opposite of what your heart longs for?"
"How do you know what my heart longs for, Mum?"
She smiled, her eyes sparkling with joy. "You were my first born, Torin. I carried you in my body, gave you life and suckled you at my breast," Torin shifted on his seat but Maggie continued despite his embarrassment. "I know you, lad. I know what makes you happy and what makes you want to cry. I see the pain in your eyes when you watch a young family---a man with his wife and wee children. 'Tis something you long for in the very depths of your soul, something that you should have. You will be a good father and devoted husband."
Torin shook his head. He found the tears welling in his eyes disconcerting. He hadn't cried in years, not in front of anyone. "But, Mum...I'm not good enough for her."
Maggie's eyebrows shot up. "Just who said that, I'd like to know?"
He shook his head and drained the lukewarm coffee from his cup. "I said that. I've sailed through too much sin in my life. I will never be pure and clean again. Alaina glows with heaven's own light. I can never ask such an innocent woman to join her life to mine. Not after the things I have done...after all the women---"
"That's enough!" Maggie lifted a hand to silence him. "Torin, you have repented as best you can. You have forsaken past and moved on with your life. God has forgiven you! 'Tis time to forgive yourself."
"But the world hasn't forgiven or forgotten. How can I ask her to share my life with this shadow of guilt hanging over me? She doesn't deserve such a thing."
Maggie's eyes flashed with anger. "Now, why don't you be giving her that choice instead of making it for her? If she's the lass I think she is, no amount of foolish gossip will frighten her off."
"Mum---"
"Nay!" Maggie waved a hand in dismissal. "You've done all you can. Don't pass by this chance at happiness because you're afraid of what might happen. If we all did that, no one would ever marry or have children. There are no guarantees, Torin, only hope and faith."
Torin smiled at his mother. No wonder he loved her so---her honesty, her passion, her forthright ways of dealing with life. No wonder his father had loved her until his dying breath.
"You miss Dad, don't you?" he murmured.
She looked at him, her gaze soft and wistful. "Aye, that I do. Your Dadai was a good man, a hard man, sometimes, but a good man. He loved you Torin. He only wanted the best for you. He just didn't know how to guide you in that direction."
"I wish..." Torin stumbled over the words, his voice catching. "I wish I had been here when he died, Mum. I wish I had told him that I loved him and I was sorry for everything."
Maggie reached out and took his hand in hers. "He knew, lad, believe me, he knew. Near the end, I think a part of him knew his time was nigh. He told me that he wished he hadn't pushed you so. He finally understood that 'twas your life, not his. He just hadn't known how to lead you there instead of dragging you behind."
"I've failed so much in my life, Mum. I hurt you and Dad so. I don't know if I could survive losing Alaina."
She reached out to lay her hand over his. "Are you happy with your life, lad?"
Torin shook his head, for the first time noticing both the strength and grace in his mother's hands.
"You've made mistakes. You've paid the price. Don't make a bigger mistake. It is time you make your choice get on with your life before any more years are wasted!" Maggie paused as a thoughtful expression passed over her face. "No, that's not fair of me. The years haven't been wasted. Torin, love, there were many times I was thinking that cutting yourself off from the world was for the best. There were days that I wondered how you'd survive the life you were leading---going from woman to woman, bottle to bottle.
"It may be burden now, changing your direction. 'Tis a frightening idea to bind your heart to another's. But I think you're ready, lad. I think you've made yourself whole again. Maybe hiding away was the right thing so you'd be ready when the right woman came into your life."
Torin looked up into his mother's eyes and saw a mixture of love and relief in the glistening tears that had gathered. He stood, leaned over the table and kissed her forehead.
"I'm not sure where my life is headed, but I am truly thankful to have been blessed with you for a mother." Torin pulled her to her feet and lifted her into a tight hug.
A week later, her ankle had healed and Alaina felt the need to get out and about once more. Early one morning as the sun began to rise, she took the opposite route she'd gone before her mishap and headed into town.
It had rained all night, the byways still filled with puddles, the muddy ground treacherous and slick. Gray clouds drifted over the sky, hiding the sunrise and casting the street in deep shadows. A crisp breeze blew off the ocean, bringing with it the pungent smells of salt and fish.
She walked briskly along the muddy road, holding her skirts high at her ankles. The small thatched buildings on either side stood dark and silent. She neared the pub, noting the crude wooden sign proudly proclaiming that Shannon's had been established in 1830. Her father must have frequented the tavern when he'd lived nearby.
She could almost hear his voice in her mind, filled with gentle humor and raised in song between gulps of ale and shots of whiskey. As soon as he was well enough, she'd make sure to bring him here.
A tremor suddenly passed over her skin as she caught a glimpse of a shadow on the ground, pooling with her own, a dark presence hovering behind her.
"Well, what have we here this fine mornin'?"
Alaina spun around, her hands fisting the heavy black cotton of her dress and cloak. She fought the instinct to scream and run as she recognized the man standing before her. Nick Doogan.
He grinned at her, chuckling as she took a jerky step back.
"Excuse me." She hated that her voice quaked with fear. His appearance had been too sudden, too unexpected for her to steel her nerves.
"Now, now lassie," he said, the leer in his eyes made her cringe. "'Tis sure you have time for an old friend, aye?"
Alaina bristled, wrapping her indignation around her like a shield even as she folded her arms across her middle.
"You are no friend of mine, Mr. Doogan. Nor are you a gentleman." She turned to leave but he caught her by the arm, jerking her backward. Alaina gasped as his fingers sunk into her flesh with bruising force.
"How soon we forget our manners, lassie," he sneered. "Must come of lying down with the dogs...or a certain Irishman, I'll wager." He bent closer, his face only a hair's breadth from hers. Alaina recoiled at the smell of stale whiskey and smoke on his breath. His clothes reeked of sweat. "And, 'tis very sure I never claimed to be no gentleman."
"Let...me...go," she commanded through clenched teeth, enunciating each word with all the self-control she could muster.
"I haven't finished with you yet, Miss High and Mighty. Now that the O'Brien isn't in the shadows, waiting to rescue his lady love, you and I can get better acquainted."
"I am not his lady love!" she exclaimed, raising her chin indignantly.
"But that's not what the villagers are sayin', now is it? They're sayin' the gentleman has gone back to his old, wicked ways. He never was too choosy about who shared his bed. But with you in the house, betrothed and all, who could blame him?"
Alaina's anger boiled at the insinuation in his voice. He turned and began pulling her down a darkened alley off the main street. Panic returned full force. She dug her heels into the shallow dirt and tried to jerk her arm free. "What do you think you're doing? Let me go! Let go of me this instant!"
Doogan chuckled, his grip tightening as he tugged her along.
"I'm thinking I'd like to know just what kind of woman O'Brien has gotten for himself," he said over his shoulder. "He took what was mine long ago―laid his filthy hands on me only sister and brought her to ruin before he killed her. 'Tis high time I return the favor."
His gaze slid down her body. Alaina's stomach lurched. She swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat.
"That's not true. Torin would never hurt a woman."
"Aye, that he would. And he'd have hung long ago if it hadn't been for his father raising the roof and all the lies they told. But now they'll pay and I will enjoy every minute of it." He jerked her arm so hard she thought it would come right from the socket.
"Let go!" She pummeled his shoulder with her fist.
Doogan swore, then turned toward her, slapping her hard across the face. Alaina sucked in a deep breath, her cheek stinging, tears filling her eyes. Doogan stepped sideways, twisting her arm down and up behind her back. Alaina cried out in agony. Her knees buckled beneath her and she crumpled to the ground. Wrapping his other arm across her throat, Doogan pulled her to her feet and began pushing her from behind. She glanced around desperately, hoping someone, anyone would come to her rescue.
Clothing tore and the fabric gave way across her shoulders. Anger edged the fear aside and Alaina fought harder.
He forced her toward a dark corner, trying to pin her against the solid stone wall as he ripped at her clothing. "No!" she screamed, rage bursting forth. "No!"
Alaina twisted in his grasp, just enough to throw off his balance. Doogan cursed. Then with a quick backwards thrust, she shoved one elbow into his gut, hard under the ribs. He doubled over, his arm slipping from around her neck. His grip tightened on her arm.
One step back and she found her mark. The heel of her boot slammed down into his soft instep. Doogan howled in pain, losing his hold completely as he held his stomach and hopped on one foot. He tried to stand straight. Alaina turned, bringing up her knee and connecting with his groin. A sharp intake of breath, eyes bulging, and Nick Doogan toppled to the ground.
Alaina stood there a moment, breathing hard and staring at the man writhing on the ground before her. She felt sick and exhilarated all at once. Then she heard voices from the street and several men stumbled over top each other as they rounded the corner into the alley. The owner of Shannon's Pub was the first to push his way toward her as the other men stopped dead in their tracks, staring in stunned amazement at the scene.
"Miss Ryan?" the publican asked with a puzzled frown. "We heard a lady screaming bloody murder but couldn't find you. What goes on here? What has the bastard gone and done?"
"Mr. Doogan seems to be having some difficulty standing," she said, gesturing at her prostrate attacker even while her insides shook like jelly. "Perhaps you can lend him some assistance?"
Shannon stared at her, mouth gaping, then glanced down at Doogan. The other man moaned and tried to roll over but collapsed back into the dirt with a thud. The barkeep muttered something in Gaelic, then looked at Alaina again. His eyes were clear now, sharp with interest and concern as he took in her appearance.
"Are you sure you're all right, Miss Ryan?" he asked, taking a step closer to her. Alaina instinctively jumped sideways to avoid his touch.
"Yes," she said, and self-consciously smoothed her muddy, rumpled skirt with shaking hands. "I'm fine. But I think Mr. Doogan will need to lie down for a while."
She turned and limped back down the alley and then turned toward Maggie's. Voices merged in the stillness behind her as others poured out of the pub to witness Doogan's plight. They spoke rapidly in Gaelic so that Alaina missed most of the words spoken. Near the edge of the village she thought she heard laughter rippling in the air.
\*
"Saints preserve us!" Maggie exclaimed at the sight of her. "What happened? Are you hurt, lass?"
Alaina grimaced as Maggie rushed to her side. She had hoped to sneak upstairs and change before seeing her friend. She even thought it best to keep the incident to herself, as if that were possible in such a small community. The pain in her jaw told her there was likely to be a mark for all the world to see.
"Yes, I'm all right, Maggie," she insisted as the other woman helped her remove her rumpled, muddy cloak. Maggie's worried gaze roved over her.
"Your face is bruised and the dress is torn," she stated, then looked Alaina square in the eye. "Who did this, Alaina?"
"I just fell, Maggie," Alaina lied, glancing around the hall to avoid her gaze. "The pavements are very slick and muddy after all the rain last night."
"Alaina Ryan, don't you be lying to me!" Maggie eyes flashed and she planted her fists on her hips. "The bruise on your cheek is near the size of a man's hand, I'd wager, and I'm thinking there are more marks where I cannot see."
Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried in vain to blink them away. Maggie's expression softened. "Please, I don't want my father to see me. He worries so as it is."
"Come, dear, let's get you upstairs and cleaned up a bit," Maggie said softly. "Then we'll have a cup of tea. You tell me what happened as soon as you're ready, but just be knowing you're safe, lass. I'll make sure of that!"
\*
Alaina sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around the delicate blue and white porcelain cup. The warmth of the amber liquid seeped into her cold fingers, dispelling some of the aching feeling from her body. She hurt all over.
"Are you hungry?" Maggie asked.
"No, not really," she replied. "Maybe later."
"Of course," Maggie said. The silence between them drew thin and fragile until Alaina thought her nerves might break beneath it. "Now do you feel like telling me what happened this morning? Your da is napping so there's no one to overhear."
Alaina stared at her tea. "I went for a walk at sunrise."
Maggie waited, calm and patient. "Go on, lass. When you're ready."
"There was no one about so I wasn't on my guard as I should have been," she said, then hesitated. If only she had been more careful---more mindful of her surroundings. She should have known better. Maggie frowned but said nothing.
"I was thinking about Daddy and-and wondering if he ever went to Shannon's. I was thinking about how he used to sing when he was drinking and...and..." Tears sprang into her eyes and her voice broke as the terror of what had happened tumbled free, washing over her like a tidal wave. The past and present suddenly mingled together. "He never knew. I-I couldn't tell him! He would have... It would have killed him!"
Alaina broke down and began to sob. She felt an arm slide around her shoulder, could hear Maggie's gentle voice crooning in soothing, comforting tones. "'Tis all right, lass, let it out. Let it all out. It will soothe your spirit to release the pain."
Alaina turned and clung to her like a small child in her mother's arms. She cried and cried until the tears were all spent. Maggie rocked her, one hand stroking her back in a gentle reassuring motion.
When her sobs had quieted to sniffles, Maggie spoke again. "Now, darling, can you finish telling me what happened?"
Alaina nodded. "I was walking and I realized someone was behind me. It...it was Nick Doogan. He was so vulgar and rude and...and I tried to leave but he grabbed me by the arm and started dragging me down the alley. He said such terrible things about me and Torin." She bit her lip and sat up to look Maggie in the eye. "No one saw at first, and by the time they came to help, I had beaten him off." Alaina swallowed back the shame of being placed in such a position. It must be her fault somehow. There must be something about her that incited such men to violence.
"How did you get away?" Maggie asked, barely controlled fury evident in her tone. Alaina glanced back at her in surprise. For a moment she thought that fury was directed at her.
"James...my friend in Virginia, he thought I should learn to defend myself after..." Alaina stopped, glancing quickly at Maggie and hoping she hadn't revealed too much. "He's a doctor and he taught me where to hurt a man---the most vulnerable places." James's lesson had indeed been enlightening, though extremely embarrassing to a naïve, sheltered young woman of eighteen. She only regretted his tutoring hadn't come months sooner.
"Everything seemed to come so naturally, somehow," she said. "I hit him in the stomach and then the top of his foot and then the, well the...uh...the..."
"Aye, I get your meaning," Maggie said with a grim smile. "Maybe Doogan will think twice before accosting a so-called helpless female again!"
Her expression turned serious and she looked Alaina directly in the eye. "Did he hurt you, lass? I mean, besides the obvious. Did Doogan ...did he touch you anywhere else?"
Alaina shook her head. "No, he didn't have a chance. I don't think he expected me to fight back. I think... Maggie I think they're talking about me and Torin. I think they're saying things that would, well, that would make a man think I'd be...willing."
Maggie sighed and shook her head. "I'm not surprised. Some need better things to do with their time---like listening to the Sunday sermon every now and then! Too many glass houses in the Burren for folks to keep throwing rocks at one another. But it doesn't matter what anyone says, Alaina. No manner of gossip gives a man the right to take what he wants from a woman! Any woman. That Doogan has always been a troublemaker. He has an axe to grind with my boy but he best be doing it at a distance from now on. When Torin hears---"
"Oh, no!" Alaina interjected, grasping Maggie's arm desperately. "You can't tell him, Maggie! He might go after him or something and he could get hurt."
"Alaina, he's going to find out one way or another! Would you rather he accept Doogan's version or your own? Now don't you worry. Torin has temper to be sure, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He won't go off half-cocked and get himself killed or hauled off by the sheriff."
The front door crashing open shook the house. Alaina and Maggie uttered overlapping, simultaneous yelps, their eyes wide with surprise.
"Mum! Where are you?" Torin's voice thundered through the downstairs, his heavy footsteps shaking the floor as he came nearer.
"Oh!" Alaina whispered. Somehow he knew. He'd heard already, before she had a chance to explain. What had Doogan told the others? Would Torin believe her? Would he believe the truth?
The kitchen door slammed against the wall, the force rattling the windows. Alaina and Maggie turned their heads, staring at the tall, angry man filling the doorway. His eyes were dark with fury, his chest heaved with each breath. Then his gaze focused on Alaina and he seemed to stop breathing altogether. She watched the emotions ripple over his handsome face---fear, remorse and then the anger returned in a blaze.
"What happened?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "Shannon said Doogan attacked you but..." He hesitated, taking a shaky step into the room. "What happened, Alaina?"
She gazed up at him and a wondrous thought entered her mind. Torin would believe her. No matter what anyone else told him, she knew in her heart that he would accept her version as the truth.
So she told him, just as she had Maggie. Only this time the tears didn't overwhelm her. This time it was easier to relate the details of the terrifying encounter. She knew he believed she was telling the truth. She could see it in Torin's eyes. Someone was on her side once more.
When she finished, his face blazed red from the force of the fury he held in check. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. He stood silent for a moment, then abruptly turned and strode back into the hall as if to leave.
"Torin?" Maggie's face turned white and she scrambled to her feet, following her son. "Lad, what are you about? Where do you think you're going?" She caught him at the front door. He didn't turn around or look at her.
"I'm going to find Doogan," he said quietly.
"No!" Alaina cried, running after them. She stopped at his side, reaching up to lay her hand on his shoulder. "Don't do this, Torin, please! I beg of you! I'm all right. I'm sure he won't bother me again."
\*
"Bother you?" he repeated. "For the love of all that's holy!" Torin stopped and took a deep breath. He felt like yelling. He felt like shaking her until her teeth rattled. How could she be so calm about what happened? But he wouldn't touch her. He'd never hurt a woman in his life and wasn't about to start now.
He did need to bury some of his blind fury in Nick Doogan's gut.
"Alaina, he almost---" He swallowed back the word he couldn't utter, tamping back the horrible images it brought to mind as he glanced away. "I cannot just stand here and let him get away with this!"
"Torin, please, I'm not hurt," she said. He reached out and gently touched the darkening bruise on her cheek. His gut clenched, his blood boiled in his veins. How could a man hurt any woman like that?
"Please, I don't want you to get hurt or into trouble on my account," she said, shame he couldn't understand twisting her features. "I shouldn't have gone out alone. I know better."
He lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I don't care if you were running naked in the street, Alaina Ryan." His mother gasped and Alaina blushed, her eyes growing wide. "Nick Doogan had no right to touch you. He will pay for it, darlin'. He'll pay dear."
"Please, Torin, don't..." she whispered.
"Lad, you're upset and I don't blame you bit," Maggie said. "But this can only make it worse. Alaina has a few bruises, but she'll heal. We can lodge a complaint with the sheriff..." Torin snorted in disgust. "We cannot be taking the law into our own hands, lad! Give yourself some time to cool off. Doogan will hang himself one day---he'll cross someone even more evil than he is himself. But don't let his judgment come at your hand."
At the sight of Alaina's pale, battered face, Torin thought of Doogan touching her, hurting her. It made him want to tear the man limb from limb. Yet, the fear in her dark eyes softened his heart as nothing else could. It wasn't for herself, but for his safety.
All the emotions he had tried to suppress broke free with the protective instinct that took over. With a muffled curse, Torin gathered Alaina into his arms, heedless of his mother standing by watching.
She stiffened, but he held her tighter still, drawing her tall slender body against his. After a moment, he felt the tension slowly ease from her. She relaxed, her arms sliding around his waist as she sighed against his chest.
"Never go out alone again," he whispered against her hair. "I'll bide your wishes and keep my distance of him. I'll make sure the sheriff hears of this and takes action. But if Doogan ever touches you again---if he should even look at you with less than an ocean's distance between---he's a dead man." Torin glanced at his mother.
"I'll make sure, lad," Maggie said, her eyes sparkling with tears. "We'll take good care of her, don't you fret."
Torin nodded, then carefully pulled away from Alaina's embrace. She smiled up at him and his heart lurched. He laid his palm against her bruised cheek, tears stinging behind his eyes.
"This is my fault...all of it," he said, his voice breaking. "Please forgive me, Alaina. Please forgive me." He bent his head, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
"Torin..." Maggie protested but he shook his head.
"I need to be going again," he said. "But don't worry, Mum. I made a promise and I'll be keeping it."
"Why don't you come for supper?" Maggie asked.
"Nay, I told the O'Malley's I'd come up today. He's needing that pasture wall mended before he loses more livestock. Seems the damage is worse then he first realized. If I had known...I'll send word that I cannot come, he'll understand."
"Nay, 'tis all right, lad," Mum said. "You made a promise and we'll be fine now. All Alaina needs is a bit of rest."
He smiled softly at his mother. "Sean won't be leaving for another week---he has to mind his father's boat until then. I'll ask him to check on you while I'm gone."
He knew his mother liked Sean Riordan and was sure his boyhood friend would enjoy the opportunity to finally get a look at Alaina. "Just mind he plays the gentleman while he's about."
Alaina stiffened again. Torin stepped carefully away, frowning. He didn't want to leave, but he had promised Tom O'Malley early in the week. If the truth was known, at the moment Torin didn't trust himself being close to Alaina. The whole incident had broken down his defenses and she felt like heaven in his arms.
"Alaina?" he asked.
"I'm fine, really," she said, despite the stark contrast between her pale skin and the horrible bruise. "You go ahead."
Torin swallowed hard and then turned and left, not daring a backward glance.
Torin rode his black gelding back into Doolin. There he found Liam Shannon standing outside his pub, sweeping dried mud away from the door. The man was always cleaning and polishing---the same grime and muck reappearing soon after. Torin wondered why he bothered.
"Liam," he called, reining his mount to a stop. The older man met his gaze with sad, gray eyes.
"Is the lass all right then?" Shannon asked. Torin nodded and noticed the publican's features visibly soften.
"Praise be to heaven!" he said softly, then looked back up at Torin. "I wish I had been there to help. The lads were rather rowdy last night and didn't want to leave in the rain. None of us got more than a few nods. Then we heard a screaming in the street and...och, Torin! The sight of that sweet, pretty face so bruised and battered. I should have taken her home, but she just says, 'Mr. Doogan needs some help,' and off she went before I had me wits about me." Shannon grunted. "Mr. Doogan! As if that sorry excuse of a jackass ever deserved such a thing."
"Where'd he take off to?"
Shannon met Torin's gaze steadily and shook his head. "I don't know. Me and the others helped him to his feet, him groaning and almost in tears for the pain." Shannon grinned, his eyes sparkling with admiration. "Ah, what a lass you've got yourself, Torin! She's a force to be reckoned when her back's to the wall."
"So you don't believe his story?" Torin asked. "That she..." He swallowed hard and looked away. He hadn't believed a word of it. He knew Alaina well enough by now to see the purity of her spirit. But those who didn't know her might believe the worst.
"What? Believe that that lovely colleen would look twice at a scoundrel like Doogan?" Shannon's eyes grew wide in surprise. Torin smiled at his old friend. "Who would believe that she would try to seduce him and then changed her mind? The man has his share of gall, to be sure, coming up with such a tale!"
Shannon grunted, waving a hand dismissively. "Saints above, Torin! None but Doogan's own mother would believe such nonsense and even then I'd wager she'd box his ears for lying. God rest her sweet soul. Mary Catherine is like to be spinning in her grave up North for the thought of what that lad of hers has become. He's turning out just like his father---a bully and a brute."
"Has the sheriff been around this week, Liam?" Torin asked. "I need to tell him what happened." Again the thought of what had almost happened to Alaina made him feel sick with guilt. If Doogan hadn't been harboring such bitterness toward him. If it wasn't for his past, Alaina wouldn't be sitting in his mother's house bruised and battered. She wouldn't have had to fight for her virtue against a man who liked nothing better than to rough up women.
"Lad, take a breath now," Shannon said. Torin turned to meet his intense gaze. "She's a strong one, Patrick's lass. You thinking of the worst won't do anyone a bit of good.
"They say the sheriff has been taking care of troubles to the south. I sent one of my lads off to let him know what's happened. All of our women need protection from the likes of Nick Doogan. We'll make sure he doesn't come near your Alaina again."
"She's not mine, Liam," Torin said. "'Tis not a blessing of which I'm worthy." He pulled at Declan's reins and started north.
\*
Alaina heard the soft tapping echo up the stairs. She lay on her bed, staring up at the white ceiling. Her jaw ached. It felt like a mule had kicked her arm---the deep purple bruises a minor testament to her pain.
She heard voices drifting up to her---Maggie's and another, deeper voice. Alaina sat up, her heart thumping harder. Could Torin have come back after all?
Sliding slowly to her feet, she crossed the room halfway before stopping abruptly. It could be Doogan. Perhaps he had sought her out to finish what he'd started. Fear washed over her, icy cold like stream water in November. If it was the loathsome man, she couldn't very well leave Maggie alone to face his anger. There was no telling what he was capable of.
Taking a deep breath, Alaina moved over the last few feet to the door and laid her ear against it. The door downstairs shut and the voices moved through the house. It all sounded peaceful enough---the male voice had a gentle, rolling quality about it. Alaina let out the breath she held. Her shoulders drooped as the tension ebbed away. It wasn't Doogan.
She stood there a moment, wondering if she should go downstairs and meet Maggie's caller or remain in her room. She longed to stay upstairs―behind the solid door and away from prying eyes. But surely everyone within twenty miles had heard of her encounter with Doogan by now. Either way, it would be weeks before the bruises faded completely. She couldn't very well hide away until then.
Alaina closed her eyes and taking a deep breath she opened the door.
"Alaina!" Maggie stood as she entered the parlor. Alaina glanced at the man seated beside her friend for an uncertain moment and then relaxed. He wore a dark cassock and a stark white collar around his neck, the uniform of a clergyman.
"How are you feeling, lass?" Maggie asked, rushing to Alaina's side. "Och, that bruise is a pitiful sight, you poor dear. Come, we have a visitor." Maggie turned toward the priest and smiled. "Father Morris, this is Patrick's girl, Alaina Ryan."
"'Tis a pleasure, Miss Ryan," the cleric replied, nodding his head. Sharp green eyes smiled at her from a round face crowned with snow-white hair. "I would have been by sooner to introduce myself, but I had business in Galway that kept me some time." His gaze moved to her dark, swollen cheek. "I arrived home this morning and heard news of your unfortunate encounter with Nicholas Doogan. I thought I should come by and see how you ladies were faring---if you needed any assistance. I remember Patrick well, though 'twas years ago that we last met."
Alaina tried to smile, but the pain in her face and the raw emotions stirred by the cleric's remarks made it all but impossible. "Thank you, Father. I'm sure as soon as he's able to receive visitors, he'd enjoy seeing you again."
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, his gaze shifting between the two women. "Mr. Shannon told me the sheriff has been notified of Doogan's behavior and I'm just sick at heart, Miss Ryan, that such a terrible ordeal has befallen you. Doogan has always been a difficult man. I'm afraid he and his sister did not have the best upbringing once their gentle mother passed on. That and their choice of companions set the stage for destruction."
Alaina felt Maggie go rigid beside her. Her arm tightened about her shoulders.
"A poor upbringing or choice of companions is no excuse for attacking a woman in the street. There is no excuse for such behavior beyond the evil harbored in his own black soul."
Father Morris blushed, glancing about the room in discomfort. Alaina felt a bit sorry for him. She wondered at Maggie's anger over such a simple remark.
"I did not mean to imply such a thing was in any way acceptable," he said. "But 'tis just that once Mary Catherine died, Nick and his sister Brigit were left alone by a drunken, neglectful father. They had no boundaries set, no one to look out for them. I'm afraid they both chose the wrong paths in life."
Alaina glanced at Maggie's face. The woman's eyes seemed to flash like lightning across the parlor. "If this conversation is going where I think it might, Father, then I suggest we end it now before I forget the meaning of Christian charity."
"Now, Maggie, really I didn't mean---"
"And just what did you mean, Father?" she asked. "My boy made his share of mistakes and then some, to be sure, but he is not to blame for the fall of Nick Doogan and that unfortunate girl. They both forsook any help offered them by their neighbors and the Church. They chose their paths and Nick remains there to this day! My boy has fought his way back off of it."
Father Morris held up both hands. Whether in protest or surrender, Alaina couldn't be sure. "Maggie, please! I am sorry. You know I think the world of Torin. He is a good, honest man and he has done all anyone can do to repent of the past. On my honor, I hold nothing against him. Maggie, the truth be known, I admire the lad. Never in my life have I seen anyone turn their lives around in such a complete fashion."
Alaina looked from one to the other, uneasy at the words spoken. She felt as if she was hearing a conversation that was none of her business. Torin had a checkered past---that had been obvious for some time now. But Alaina knew that any confession to her should come from him, and not derived from the remarks of others.
"Maggie," she said softly, laying her hand on the other woman's arm.
Maggie looked at her and sighed, then glanced back at the priest. "I apologize, Father. Please forgive the outburst. This whole incident has been very upsetting to all of us."
Father Morris smiled and nodded. "Of course, Maggie. 'Tis my fault entirely. Seems I always manage to stick my foot in it. Please forgive me, both of you, for causing any further discomfort."
Maggie nodded. "Now, would you like some tea, Father? I believe Alaina wished to visit with Patrick this afternoon, aye lass?"
"Oh, of course," the white-haired priest replied. "Don't let me detain you. I need to be on my way as well."
"It's been a pleasure, Father Morris." Alaina extended a hand which he took.
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Ryan. And would be my honor to perform the ceremony anytime you're ready."
"Ceremony?" she asked with a frown.
"Aye, the nuptial Mass?" His smile dissolved. "Oh, you are Catholic, are you not?"
"Oh..." Alaina stumbled for something to say as she clasped her fingers together at her waist and stepped backward. "Yes, but we...we aren't---"
"We'll let you know as soon as they've set the date," Maggie added smoothly.
"Wonderful!" the priest exclaimed. "'Tis a good thing I posted marriage announcements as soon as I heard the news of your visit, then. I was afraid I might have overstepped myself."
"Oh, uh, no, Father," Maggie said as she firmly ushered him to the door. "You've done very well. Thank you."
"Yes, well, good evening, ladies. Give Patrick my best and let him know I look forward to talking with him soon."
"Thank you, Father," Alaina murmured. "I will."
The door closed and Maggie stood silent with her back to Alaina.
"Maggie?"
"Aye?"
Alaina stared at her, waiting for the other woman to say something. Finally she couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "He thinks Torin and I are getting married."
"It seems that way, doesn't it?" Maggie turned to face her with a smile.
"Shouldn't we tell him the truth?"
"And that would be?"
Alaina frowned and shook her head. Was she dreaming again? "That we aren't, of course! What will Torin say when he finds out?"
Maggie shrugged and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. "There's no reason he needs to know. And I'm sure he'll just laugh anyhow. Father Morris is forever putting the cart before the horse."
Alaina scampered down the hall after her, skirts lifted high in both hands. "Why do I feel like something's going on?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Maggie said as she began the evening meal. "If the priest wants to believe Torin is getting married, 'tis no skin off my nose. We'll all have a good laugh about it later."
"But he's posted banns!"
"Means nothing, lass. You don't have to get married because of it---no worries, aye?"
Maggie's smile beamed at her from across the room and Alaina finally let the subject drop. But a small doubt niggled at her mind. She couldn't help but wonder if dear, kind Maggie O'Brien had something up her sleeve.
Something else bothered her as well. "Maggie, the Father spoke of Doogan and his sister---"
"Aye, sorry for that, I am. You'd think a body would let the past go at last---especially a priest who's job 'tis to be forgiving and forgetting."
"What do you think happened to Brigit?"
Maggie shook her head. "She jumped of course. There's no other explanation."
"But how? She feared the cliffs so very much. How could she bring herself to do something like that?"
The other woman spun around, her eyes wide. "How can you be knowing that? That she feared the cliffs?"
"Oh," Alaina exclaimed, at a momentary loss. "Torin told me. Wasn't it common knowledge? Didn't you know?"
Maggie crossed herself as she shook her head. "Poor lost child... Nay, I didn't know the lass very well. Oh..." Her eyes filled with tears and she dabbed at them with the edge of her apron. "If only I had...I should have reached out to the girl, but I was so very angry with Torin. I didn't think he should marry her---I wanted a better life for my son."
"Maggie, you're not to blame."
"Maybe not, but neither is Torin. Whatever happened to the child, it was not his doing!"
"Of course not! I never said otherwise, I just don't see how---"
"Alaina, I am sorry, but let the past rest," Maggie insisted as she turned back to the sink. "Nothing good will come of picking at old wounds. We'll never know what forced poor Brigit off those cliffs and we have to move on despite it."
Alaina stepped back, somewhat chastised. She'd let the question drop for now, but she couldn't keep it from lingering in her thoughts. Sometimes the past should be laid to rest---but not if it still haunted those left living.
"Go on now and rest a bit while I get supper done," Maggie continued. "We'll face your father together, later. He'll have to know what's happened for the bruises will take ages to heal."
"Oh, I can't---"
Maggie looked at her and smiled. "You can, and you must. But lay down for a while first. And don't you worry, I'll be at your side as long as you need me."
"God in Heaven, who did this to you?" her father whispered as he took in the bruises on her face.
"Daddy, I'm fine---"
"Don't be telling me lies when I can see the obvious!" he yelled as he struggled to sit in the large bed.
"Please!"
"Who did this?" he demanded.
"The man from the pier at Ballyvaughn---Nick Doogan."
The pain in her father's eyes made her want to weep, but she held back the tears. "Why?" Patrick asked. "Why would he do such a thing?"
Maggie slipped in behind her then and placed a comforting hand on her back. "He's a bad one, Patrick. Has been for years. But he turned his anger on Alaina because he hates Torin. I think he wanted to hurt him through her."
Patrick shook his head and a tear slid down his weathered face. "Come here, inion."
Alaina rushed to his bedside and sank down beside him. He pulled her into his arms and he rocked her gently as silent tears fell from her eyes. It felt safe in her father's embrace.
"What's being done?" he asked Maggie, his voice more controlled.
"The sheriff has been notified but no one's seen Doogan since the attack. Alaina defended herself quite well, so I'm told."
"And Torin? Has he gone after the bastard?"
"Nay, and he promised he wouldn't."
"Good, can't have him winding up in jail, can we?" He pulled back from Alaina and turned her face from one side to another. "You poor, sweet lass. Did he hurt you anywhere else?"
"No, daddy, he didn't..." She swallowed hard and forced out the words she'd yet been able to say. "He didn't rape me."
He closed his eyes, his shoulders sagged with relief. "Thanks be to God."
"And to James Sloan---he's the one who taught me to defend myself."
"Yes, dear old James," he said with a smile. "He'll definitely be in my will now, bless his soul. But he's still too old for you, lass."
Alaina laughed out loud and smiled back at her father whose eyes twinkled with a faint trace of humor. It reminded her of the times they'd had little but love and laughter to survive on...and that had always kept the hope burning bright.
"Torin's gone," she said. "He went to help his friend mend fences."
"Ah, then, 'tis all the more reason for me to stop lying about feeling sorry for myself." He moved his legs so he could get out of bed and held out a hand. "Come on, ladies, there's work to do. Got to get me strength back if I'm to defend two beautiful women from the bastards in this world."
"Daddy!"
"Ah, don't go scolding me now, inion. 'Tis time I got out of bed. I've a mind to dance at a ceili---the sooner, the better."
\*
"Mama! Mama! 'Tis Torin's pretty angel!" The young male voice rang over the valley as two small children ran toward the white limestone cottage. Smoke poured from the chimney rising from the thatched roof, scenting the sea air with the sweet, pungent odor of burning turf.
A young, plump woman with streaked blond hair emerged from the open doorway, drying her hands on an apron that hung about her, tied high just above her very pregnant stomach. As they rattled closer, Alaina was surprised that she recognized the young boy. He was the same lad she had encountered during her first moments in Ballyvaughn. Apparently he was still under the impression that she was a celestial spirit. Alaina smiled down at the children, their upturned faces glowing back at her with their own heavenly light and innocence.
"You must be Willie," Alaina said, to which the children's mouths dropped open in wonder. She laughed, turning her attention to the mother as Sean Riordan pulled the rig to a halt near the cottage and dismounted.
"Hello!" Mary Katherine O'Malley exclaimed as she stared at Alaina with open curiosity. "Is this Miss Ryan?"
"Aye, Mary Kate," Sean replied. "This is the lady, herself. And her da, Patrick. Alaina, Mr. Ryan, this lovely angel is Mary Kate O'Malley---a cousin of yours, I do believe."
Mary Kate blushed as she patted her head. "'Tis a grand pleasure to meet you Mister Ryan, Miss Ryan. I wish I'd known you were coming this mornin'. We aren't quite ready for company." Maggie hopped down from the carriage. "And Maggie, I'll be glad to have your hands for helping. From what I hear we've quite a crowd coming to the party."
Alaina smiled at her cousin. "Oh, please, call me Alaina. And I'd love to be of help as well, if I may?"
Mary Kate nodded emphatically. "Well, of course you can!" At that moment, a young red-haired girl tugged at her sleeve. "Oh, this is my girl, Molly, and I think you've already met our Willie. He's spoken of nothing else these past two months but the O'Brien's lovely angel. There be many more cousins round about, too. But you'll meet many of them tonight at the ceili."
Torin walked out the cottage then with another, much taller man, who was soon introduced as Tom O'Malley, her cousin's husband. But Alaina found she only had eyes for Torin. The sight of him after such a long week's absence made her heart race like a jackrabbit running from the hounds.
"About time you brought everyone 'round, Sean," Torin said as he neared the wagon.
"Ah, I didn't want to," Sean said with a grin as he turned to help Alaina from her seat. "I like having two of the prettiest ladies to myself, but Alaina insisted."
"Would you give me a hand there, lad?" Patrick asked from his seat in the bed. "My legs are starting to ache something fierce."
Sean winked at Alaina and left her sitting as he did her father's bidding. Then Torin stood at the wagon's edge, a smile in his eyes as he grasped her about the waist and lifted her down from the seat. The touch of his hands and his nearness made her tremble---this time with something very different from fear.
"There will be music, aye?" Patrick asked as he limped carefully toward them using Sean for support on one side and a makeshift cane on the other.
"Aye!" Sean exclaimed. "What would a party be without a bit of dancing. Alaina promised to save me a jig."
"Would you like to learn how to jig, Alaina?" Torin asked, oblivious to the curious stares of the other standing nearby. He stood close to her, his hands about her waist far longer than they need be.
She felt an odd stirring in her belly but refused to allow her thoughts to wander down dangerous paths. "As a matter of fact, I know how to jig! I actually used to be rather good at it, too."
One eyebrow shot up in surprise but Torin said nothing before he let go of her and turned back to the others. "It seems we have a true Irishman's daughter with us after all."
Her father never looked so proud. "That you have, lad. I might not have taught her the language, but she did learn the dance."
Maggie laughed. "There won't be any dancing at all if we don't get busy. Now lads, you go off and mend fences---or whatever it is you need to do---and let us get to work. Patrick," she added, turning to the man with a soft smile. "Since you're not quite ready for hard labor, we could use your help in the kitchen, I'd wager."
"Ah, to be closeted up with the women?" His eyes twinkled with merriment. "What great joys could there be? Old age is not such a bad thing after all."
Mary Kate's plump face broke into an even brighter smile and she nodded her head vigorously, her green eyes dancing.
"The sleeping arrangements have all been made," she announced. "The children can camp out in the barn while you men bunk with Tom in our room. The ladies and I will take the loft," she said as a plan came into focus. "I hope you don't mind, Alaina, but there's no way my Tom can climb up into the loft these days with his bad back. He hurt it when he fell off the roof last winter. Slick as ice that thatch was and himself decides to go up there to tend the chimney!"
"Oh, but you don't have to go to such trouble..." Alaina began to feel as if she had boarded a runaway train.
"No trouble at all, dear!" Mary Kate waved a plump hand in dismissal. "We haven't had a get together in ages and 'tis always a joy to have friends and family about. Willie, lad, you run over to cousin Colm's and remind them the ceili will be tonight after supper time, and ask them to pass the news. Tell him to bring his fiddle and jug or two of whatever he has on hand---food too, if they have any to spare. Off with you now, and hurry back so you can help us get ready!"
Alaina could only stare as the young boy ran off across the valley toward the next hill. She wished there were some way to turn the tide in which she was now engulfed. It seemed she and her father were going to be the guests of honor at her first Irish ceili, whether she liked the idea or not. She glanced at Torin, who looked quite pleased with the situation and met her gaze with a boyish smile.
"Come then, Sean," he said as he clapped his friend on the back. "We've been given our orders."
"Haven't you got the job done yet?" Sean asked.
"Ah, there he is," the quiet Tom interjected with a chuckle. "Trying to get out of work already! What are we to do with the likes, Torin?"
"No problem, boy-o, I saved the far wall in the west pasture just for Sean." He turned to Riordan with a grin. "I'm thinking you can handle some of the smaller stones, aye?"
"Very funny," Sean sulked. "We'll just be seeing who can handle what, old man."
Alaina watched the three men walk away, a tingle spreading over her skin as Torin glanced back at her over his shoulder. Sean Riordan was a handsome man---nearly as tall as Torin, but thinner and with a thick thatch of black hair and light blue eyes. She had become used to his easy manner and generous charm over the past two weeks, but her thoughts still lingered on Torin. So different they were---one man dark and brooding, the other playful and carefree. In retrospect, it seemed strange that her heart should be so entangled by a man of such mercurial moods. But he haunted her dreams as well as her waking hours.
"Where are my manners?" Mary Kate admonished herself. "Come, come inside Alaina and Patrick---we have a lot to talk about! 'Tis not every day you meet new family. I confess, we've heard much talk of you, Alaina. We've all been waiting to meet the O'Brien's angel." A rumbling laugh seeped out of her father.
"Angel? Oh! Willie mentioned me?" Alaina guessed. "We sort of met, in Ballyvaughn when we first arrived. He asked me if I was an angel, but I told him no."
"Aye, that's our Willie," Mary Kate said with a nod. "The lad has a way with a story and he'll always draw his own conclusions."
"A future seanachais, perhaps?" Alaina asked. The other woman looked at her with surprise and pleasure.
"Aye! A seanachais!" she said.
"I didn't know you were learning Gaelic, Alaina," her father added as he sank down onto a chair at the long wooden table.
"Oh, I'm not really," she told him. "Well, I'm trying to learn. Maggie has been helping me but I'm afraid it's much more difficult than I thought. It's so far different than English. French was much easier."
"You've gotten much better, already," Maggie added as she tied an apron Mary Kate offered around her waist.
"Thank you, Maggie." Alaina turned to her father and smiled. "Daddy, you did teach us a few words---and a curse or two, by accident, I'm sure."
Maggie and Mary Kate laughed as her father's face flushed. "Ah, well, 'twas not my design, lass. I'd have been more than pleased to teach you of your heritage---but there were other considerations."
Some of the merriment died between them as painful memories bombarded Alaina. The other considerations came in the form of her mother, Rosalind. The woman had hated the Irish almost as much as she had hated the Yankees.
"Aye," Maggie added into the silence. "'Tis a shame many of us don't know their own language anymore. Gaelic has almost died out, except here on the West Coast and especially on the Aran Islands."
"Well, you keep on learning, Alaina," Mary Kate said with a smile. "It takes just two people to keep such a thing from fading away forever."
\*
The sun high in the sky, the three women still sat at the kitchen table in deep conversation. They found themselves to be kindred spirits and fell easily into working side by side thinly slicing vegetables and shanks of lamb for the evening meal.
"I never knew I had any cousins," Alaina admitted as she glanced at her father. He'd fallen asleep in a large chair by the hearth. "I just assumed that since Torin's grandparents took my father in as a boy that there was no blood kin to take care of him."
"Oh, there were a lot of aunts and uncles on both sides," Mary Kate told her. "'Tis a shame, though. There was a feud between the Ryans and Clancys back then---though I'm not sure how it started. I don't think anyone remembers. Anyway, my ma said when your poor da found himself without a mum or dad, not a one would take him in. That's when Seamus and Mary Elizabeth O'Brien took pity on him and brought him under their roof."
"Aye," Maggie added. "Kind people they were! Always lookin' after others before themselves. 'Twas a quite a day for mourning when they passed on from this world."
"True. I was young, but I remember it well. They both passed within days of each other. Some say 'cause of the love they shared---he didn't want to go on without her."
The rest of the story Alaina already knew. Patrick and Michael came to be like brothers, even closer if that were possible. That friendship had spawned their pact the night before Patrick sailed to America to make his fortune. The betrothal had bound Torin, Michael and Maggie's young son, to Patrick's first born daughter.
They spoke quietly as her father snored. Alaina looked out the open door, thinking of her cousin's words as she tried to imagine what her daddy's life must have been like. Being unwanted...unloved...what a cruel hardship for someone so young. Her heart ached at the very thought.
"Glory be!" Mary Kate exclaimed. "We've been talking for hours and I've all but forgotten about the poor men! They must be dying of thirst out there by now. I better go and fetch a pail of water. They get working so hard they never think to come and get a drink themselves."
"I think there's a bit of pride in that, too," Maggie said with a chuckle. "None of them wants to show weakness, so they keep on till they drop of thirst. Alaina, dear, would you fetch the water while Mary Kate and I make them a bit of a meal?"
"Yes, of course. Just point me in the right direction."
Eyeing her thoughtfully, Mary Kate smiled at Alaina. "Your da's done well by you, Alaina. Torin must be sorely tempted."
Alaina squirmed on the bench "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "We've decided not to get married---I thought everyone had heard that by now. We're just friends." The other woman looked unconvinced and she and Maggie shared a look that made Alaina even more flustered.
"I better get them some water before they faint away."
"Mind that charming Sean," Mary Kate admonished as she walked out the door. "He's always gone after Torin's lass---doesn't notice a one until Torin does."
"Yes, we've dealt with his flirting already, haven't we, Alaina?" Maggie added with a smile. "No worries, Mary Kate. She's got a good head on her shoulders."
\*
Grabbing a bucket and ladle by the front door, Alaina walked to the pump she had seen outside earlier and filled the vessel almost to the rim with cool water. Then she made her way toward the western pasture, weaving through the maze of dry stone walls and avoiding piles of sheep and cow dung. She began to chide herself for filling the bucket so full as the strain of it tugged mercilessly at her wrists and arms, the contents sloshing over the sides with each movement and splashing on her dress and shoes.
She glanced between the contents of the bucket and the treacherous ground beneath her feet, unaware how close she was to the men until she almost tripped over Sean as he knelt on the ground, digging up a large stone in the field.
"Whoa there, lass!" he cautioned as he steadied her with both hands. His face dripped from perspiration, his shirt soaked clear through.
"Oh," she stammered as he took the bucket from her hands and set it on the ground. "I beg your pardon---I didn't see you."
"Obviously," he said with a grin and a wink. "And to what good fortune do I owe such a lovely lass almost falling in me lap?"
"Mary Kate thought you gentlemen might be thirsty," she told him. A quick glance told her the other two men weren't anywhere in sight.
"That I would!" He stood and scooped up a ladle-full, watching her over the rim as he drank. "You are lovely," he murmured after a moment. "How did Torin get to be such a lucky man?"
"Thank you, Sean," Alaina replied lightly. She'd grown used to his blatant flirtation, but it still made her a bit nervous, particularly when they were alone. "But Torin and I are just friends, you know that. Where are the others, by the way?"
He smiled at her for a moment, a questioning look in his eyes. Then he shook his head and smiled---all carefree and easy once more. "They be over the next field. We needed a few smaller stones to finish the patch job and I was elected to dig them up."
"Thank you." She picked up the bucket and started off in the direction he'd indicated. "Maggie and Mary Kate are making lunch. They should be out shortly."
"Ah, bless their sweet souls!" Sean said as he knelt back on the ground. "A man works up an appetite hefting stones and digging in muck all morning long."
A field away, she came upon a mountain of a man, his blond hair shining in the sun as he lifted stones into a wheelbarrow. "Hello," she called, somewhat timid until he looked up at her with a warm, boyish smile.
"Ah, Miss Alaina," he greeted her.
"Hello, Mr. O'Malley."
"Please, call me Tom. We're not so formal 'round here." He wiped both hands on his trouser legs, took the bucket from her and set it down.
She held out her hand and he shook it gently as if afraid he might break her. Taller than Torin by at least a head, the man also boasted powerful shoulders that strained against the sweat-stained fabric of his broadcloth shirt.
"You have a beautiful family and home, Tom. I can tell much love has gone into making it so."
He smiled at her thoughtfully and nodded. "Aye, thank you, lass. We've done it together---Mary Kate and myself. Don't know I would have cared if she hadn't been at my side."
A slight stab of envy nettled her then, but she shook off the feeling. "The other ladies are putting a meal together. They should be out shortly."
"Good timing," he said as he dipped the ladle and drew it out. "I was just telling Torin the rocks were starting to look tasty."
A low chuckle had her spinning around. "Such a babe you are, Tom. Doesn't Mary Kate feed you any more?"
Torin stood a few feet away, a large rock cradled in his arms against his bare chest. Alaina gazed at his strong arms and back as he walked by her to lay the stone in the barrow. Muscle moved fluidly beneath sun-bronzed skin as he bent and lifted another into place. He turned toward her with the glare of the sun shining across the surface of his torso; the smooth skin glistened with perspiration. She couldn't help the downward movement of her gaze as she took in every inch of his figure. His thin breeches clung to muscular thighs and narrow hips in a most disconcerting fashion. She felt her face color while torrential waves of heat rose from some place deep within her middle.
Alaina knew she should look away. It would be the ladylike thing to do. But she seemed to have no control over herself. Torin stared straight at her, his immediate smile frozen upon his lips as their gazes held.
Her heart pounded at the expression she saw in the depths of his eyes. For a moment they stood still, trapped in some sort of void through which no thought seemed to penetrate. Then Tom cleared his throat rather loudly and she looked away, her cheeks burning hotter than the noonday sun.
"I-I brought water," she stammered, finding she could barely breathe.
After another moment, Torin moved toward her. "Thank you," he said. He removed the ladle, drew it out brimming full of the cool clear liquid and drained the cup with one gulp. He dipped it again, then tilted back his head to draw out every drop of water. The movement of his throat as he swallowed held her rapt attention. Some of the liquid spilled and she felt a sudden urge to lean forward and lap the drops from his skin. Alaina imagined how it would feel to then follow the trail they left behind with her tongue.
"Do you want some?" he asked.
She shook her head and licked her dry lips in a way that drew his attention to her mouth. She thought she heard him groan.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly. Tom coughed nearby.
"Nay," Torin murmured, his expression somewhat pained.
Panic fluttered in her chest. "What can I do?" She stepped toward him. "You've been in the sun so long, maybe I can help you into the shade and ..."
With a quick movement, he grabbed the bucket from the ground. Alaina gasped and stumbled backward as Torin dumped the icy water over his head. The empty bucket fell with a thud as he shook the water droplets from his hair like a great beast and rubbed his face with both hands. Tom let out a bellow of a laugh at the sight.
"Sorry," Torin replied with a rueful grin. "'Tis a lot hotter than I realized."
She stood there and blinked at him, her mind awhirl with confusion.
"Go back to the cottage," he commanded. "I'll be 'round as soon as we've finished here." The biting edge in his tone snapped Alaina out of the spell she was under. With Tom's laughter echoing across the Burren, she gathered up the discarded bucket and turned on her heel toward the small house, leaving a puzzled-looking Sean in her wake.
The happy chattering of ten-year-old Molly and little Willie drifted through the open cottage door as Alaina walked toward it. But thoughts of Torin filled her mind---his appearance, the strange sensation she felt in watching him, and his uncharacteristic display of spontaneity.
The children's bright, expectant faces peered up at her as she entered the door. Little redheaded Molly, the more timid of the two, dropped her gaze and blushed when Alaina smiled back at her.
"Ah, we've just got the food ready," Mary Kate told her. "How are they doing?"
"Yes...quite well," Alaina said as she put the bucket back in its previous position by the door. She was glad for the moment to be able to hide her blushes from the family's curious stares. "Torin was a little...hot."
The image of him shaking beads of water from his dark curls sent her heart fluttering again and made her feel like a fool. She sank down onto a nearby chair, but not before she saw the knowing look that passed between Maggie and Mary Kate.
"Hmmm, well, the children are pitching in now and apparently the news has traveled fast and furious," Mary Kate announced with a pleased smile. "We should have a grand lot of kin here this evening. Maggie and I will take some food out to the lads. Then we'll all have our turns in the tub before the company starts to arrive."
The meat and vegetables had been placed in a large kettle over the hearth to simmer until mealtime. Molly swept the floors and young Willie brought water back to wash down every inch of the woodwork. Before the afternoon was over, the rustic little house shone to rival any of the southern plantation homes in which Alaina had spent most of her life. The children and her father working at her side, she felt an overwhelming sense of well-being as everything fell into place for the ceili.
The pleasant odors of warming stew, the turf burning in the hearth and the sweet fresh scent of a bundle of wildflowers that the children had gathered filled the cottage. Yellow, white and crimson blossoms spilled forth from two different jars on the table, brightening the room with their vibrant colors.
Mary Kate beamed with pride and patted Alaina's arm affectionately. "The men are almost done! 'Tis a grand thing when so many hands make work light. Now I've got some water warmed up for you out in the barn---Maggie and I have had our turns. You can bathe next. It won't be a hot bath, but 'tis better than the turlough and much more private."
Alaina was saved from responding as Willie marched in the door and announced with a pleased smile that the tub was ready. Ten minutes later, she immersed her tired, aching body into tepid water with a sigh of relief. The pungent odors of manure, hay and horseflesh merged with the heather-scented water---Mary Kate had added her own mixture of perfumed oil for Alaina's pleasure. Soon she felt as if she were afloat both mentally and physically as she reveled in the odd assortment of little joys she found in everyday life in this country. Why had such things been so lacking for her at Aveleen?
It left her wondering. Wealth and luxury were once abundant in her life and yet she had still longed for adventure and romance. Always something had been missing from the opulence. Then, when it had all but been taken away, she still had not missed the finery and the trappings of plantation life. Before the war, her dresses were made of the finest cloth at least twice a year by one of the best dressmakers in Virginia. The war had come, and Alaina then had to make do with having her old garments redone to look more stylish. Though hoop skirts had been put to rest and the bustle had come into fashion, Alaina had made no concession for the latest update in vanity. There was not one bustle to be found in her entire wardrobe.
Eventually she had even learned to do the sewing and altering herself. Never did it occur to her to mind. Out of necessity, these small concessions had been made and she rather enjoyed the independent feeling it gave her, the sense of pride in accomplishment.
Fine food and linens were not missed, nor were the fancy parties and balls. What she had missed was the security of the love she had once been given by her brothers and Nanny Rose. Instead of binding together against the enemy, Patrick Ryan's clan had retreated from one another. They had built walls and shrunk away from the very people from whom they should have gathered strength. Instead they had suffered and mourned alone. If it hadn't been for James...
She squelched the thought as it brought with it a momentary pang of guilt. She sat with her knees poking out from the surface of the bath, the water lapping against the upper curves of her breasts. With one hand she pulled the pins out of her upswept hair and unwound the long rope of auburn tresses. She then slid her bottom down to the opposite end of the tub and sank her torso deep beneath the water past her shoulders. With a little maneuvering, she could then tip her head backward as she held onto the metal sides and dunk her hair into the water. It flowed into her ears and over her face. As she rose from its depths and sat up, she felt rivulets cascade down her shoulders and back.
How she loved the water. Bathing, swimming, or sitting beside the creek that ran near Aveleen were among her dearest pleasures. Every sound and smell associated with water seemed to rekindle a memory and soothe her soul. She had a sudden urge to run headlong into the ocean stark naked and swim until her muscles ached and her lungs burned for air. Her father had once called her his little fish but it had been years since she had actually been able to go swimming.
Sighing at the futility of such yearnings, Alaina stared at the barn wall and the muslin dress and undergarments that hung there on wooden pegs. She found herself envying her cousin and her gentle giant of a husband. There was no doubt that if the couple had faced similar tragedies and trials as the Ryans had, they would have emerged strong, and triumphant and even more deeply devoted to one another. Another, sadder sigh escaped her lips and she thought she heard a faint creak of the barn door behind her.
Alaina turned her head to smile over her shoulder, thinking Mary Kate or Maggie had come to order her out of the tub lest she pruned, but the expression froze and blood drained from her face as her gaze met Torin's. He had taken a few steps into the barn and stood on the hay strewn dirt floor staring at her. The first expression in his eyes was disbelief and surprise. Then a warm flame of desire flickered and blazed in the depths of gray-green.
No words were spoken. Alaina found she couldn't move. He stood there, mesmerized, as his gaze moved down her shoulders and back. For her part, Alaina admired every inch and nuance of his exposed chest with rapt fascination.
She waited for him to speak. She could feel the return of the blood that had drained from her face. It seemed as if her veins were being infused with fire and a deafening pounding filled her ears. Then she realized that it was the beat of her own heart.
\*
His feet seemed rooted to the floor. He had been deep in thought when he entered the barn, his mind filled with images of Alaina. He was thinking of the desire in her dark eyes that afternoon in the pasture. He recognized the look. It was the same she had in his cottage that night when he rescued her from the Burren. The lass was becoming very much a woman with all the passions she had previously denied herself. The sight of him had stirred something within her and he wondered if she was equipped to handle these new feelings.
Now her pure, silken flesh lay exposed to his lustful gaze. How he wanted to join her in that tub. Better yet, he wanted to drag her out of it again and lay her down in the fresh hay. His mind filled with images that left him both breathless and aching.
His last coherent thought was to order himself to leave, but his feet would not obey the command. He wasn't sure he could feel them anymore as all blood seemed to pool in other extremities. It was all he could do to keep from sinking to his knees.
She shivered again and the nerves between his brain and limbs seemed to connect at last. Torin found the strength to turn away from the glistening beauty. He trudged out the door, each movement a chore. His legs felt leaden. It seemed a small miracle when he found they had somehow carried the rest of him to the turlough.
Without thinking, he flung himself full-length into the shallow, icy water. He thought he heard a distant cry of surprise. The shock of the wet cold against his heated skin knocked the breath out of him. It was a painful, yet pleasant awakening that brought his careening thoughts into focus and quenched the raging furnace within. He let his body float in the freezing pool, and held his breath until he thought his lungs would burst.
Sputtering and groaning like a wild beast, he rose from the water and scraped the dripping hair back from his face. This would not do for long---he could not go about jumping into lakes or dousing himself with water every time he felt the urge to make love to Alaina.
I'll wind up drowning inside of a week.
She was his own Achilles' heel. Torin knew something had to be done before he lost control and did something they would both regret. A woman in love could easily lose her head, and her sense if the man coaxed enough.
He knew her defenses could be broken down, Torin could see it in her wondrous eyes. She might not love him, but she wanted him. Yet, he didn't wish to take advantage of her innocence that way. He didn't want her that way. Everything had to be right between them. Torin knew he could only make Alaina his in body if she were first his in spirit as his wife.
As he sloshed out of the turlough he almost ran into Mary Kate. She tossed a blanket over his shoulders with a broad grin as she turned and waddled back to the cottage. He stood and stared after her, vaguely aware of the sound of laughter somewhere nearby that left him questioning what was so funny.
He somehow managed to look at Alaina without lustful thoughts filling his mind hours later as dozens of people began to fill the small O'Malley cottage and yard. Tables had been set up for food and liquor, both of which were had in abundance as the guests all brought something to share.
With so many about, it seemed a safe time to approach her now---if not to apologize, at least to smooth over the unease that now hung between them like a thick bank of fog.
"'Tis a fine night for a ceili," Torin noted as he stood near her. The familiar scent of roses hung about her, but now lilacs added to the mix. He longed to draw her into his arms and simply inhale the very essence until it became a part of him.
"Yes, it is," she replied, her hands twisting in the folds of her long skirt. "Are they always this well attended?"
He waved a hand at the thickening crowd. "Depends on the reason. I suppose meeting an American cousin and seeing the Ryan again plays a big part."
She chewed on her bottom lip and his breath caught. "I hope I don't disappoint them."
Soon he was lost in the depths of her gaze and the attraction he couldn't deny. Did he see a spark of desire in those eyes? He could only hope so, for he feared he'd fallen too deep to climb his way out again.
"Disappoint? Ah, that you could never do," he murmured. Her cheeks turned a most becoming shade of pink and she seemed at a loss for words, but was soon saved the trouble of further conversation.
"Torin, lad!" Colm Morrison called from the other side of the room where the musicians had gathered. "Will you be playing with us now?"
Her eyes widened. "You play an instrument?"
He wasn't sure whether to be offended or to laugh at her shock. "Aye, the wooden flute," he told her. "'Tis a talent passed from father to son in my family."
"Oh."
"You seem surprised."
"I am, a little."
"And why is that?"
She waved a hand in the air. "It's just that...you don't seem like a musician."
He raised a brow. "How does a musician look then?"
"More...I-I mean less..." She faltered and seemed to search for words that wouldn't come. "Never mind."
Torin turned to hide a smile and headed toward the makeshift stage. The other men grinned their welcome as he took the flute offered and stood where they motioned.
A moment later, the fiddler set the beat and Torin and rest joined in the song. The familiar melody washed over him, his fingers working as if they had minds of their own.
He was seldom aware of the audience when he played, but tonight Torin could sense one pair of eyes watching from the crowd. He knew it was her, and the notion set his heart at a faster tempo.
The first song was one to get the hands clapping, feet tapping. The next designed to pull the revelers onto the dance floor.
Many songs later, Torin felt the weight of her stare upon him and glanced up to catch Alaina's gaze with his own. She smiled at him shyly from the other side of the room. As he returned the gesture with a nod of his head, he was annoyed to see his old friend, Sean Riordan approach the lass. Torin began to play the next dance, but faltered a bit as Sean took Alaina by the hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor. He watched over the heads of the other couples as she shook her head, glancing around at the others self-consciously.
Sean leaned closer, talking in her ear and Torin's fingers tightened on the flute. She shrugged, gave a small nod, held both hands out to the other man and began to dance hesitantly. After a few steps, she seemed to relax and even laughed at something Sean said.
Torin felt his chest tighten as anger filled him.
"Let up on the flute, lad," Colm said in his ear. "You're near to breaking 'er in half."
Snapped from his jealous haze, Torin smiled ruefully and joined back in the spirited number. All was well. He could deal with Alaina dancing a jig with his old friend. After all, it was nothing more than a dance.
Then the song ended, the dancers clapped and Colm motioned for a slow song. Torin clenched his jaw as Sean drew Alaina into his arms. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from leaping off the stage to push through the crowd and lay the other man flat.
Instead he played his part, though he knew from the looks sent him by the other musicians, he must have missed a note or two. When the dance ended, he watched as Alaina pulled away from Sean and they both clapped with the others.
Colm leaned toward him, his back to the audience. "Take a break, lad, and claim your turn with the lass."
Torin frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means while you've got your fists clutched like a man wantin' blood, the music is sufferin'. And so are you. Go get your woman away from Riordan and save the room some grief."
"I---"
"Go."
Torin handed the flute to Colm and leapt off the stage. When he spotted Alaina standing at the edge of the crowd, Sean still hovered over her with little space between.
Jealous anger began to boil and the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea before Torin as he stalked toward the couple. Though he could hear the murmurs and whispers in his wake, he paid no attention. His goal was to reach his woman before Sean could set another hand upon her.
"Torin," Sean said with a broad grin as he approached. "The band sounds smooth tonight, even though you seem a might out of practice, old man."
Alaina glanced between them, her dark eyes wide. "I thought you sounded wonderful," she said.
"'Tis your opinion I value more then this old scoundrel's," Torin assured her, his tone even.
"Ah, listen to himself, calling me the scoundrel!" Sean exclaimed. "I think I hear a bit of jealousy there, O'Brien. You wouldn't begrudge me a dance with the lovely colleen, would you now?"
"Nay, but you've danced more than once and I'm thinking her attentions are wanted elsewhere."
"By you?"
"Aye."
Sean shook his head. "Now 'tis only fair to warn the lass of your two left feet. She may wind up with a devil of a limp should she take your hand."
"That would be a far sight better than listening to you talk of yourself all night."
"But I'm such an interesting fellow."
Torin shook his head and turned to Alaina. "Would you dance with me?"
She glanced down at her hands folded at her waist. "I'm not a very good dancer."
"Nonsense, you did right well with a good partner," Sean said and it was all Torin could do not to plant his fist in his gloating, grinning face.
"I'd be honored if you'd dance with me," he said to Alaina instead, and held out a hand in invitation.
She laid her hand in his. "Of course I'll dance with you, if you don't mind me trodding on your feet a bit."
"You'll be fine," Torin said, unable to hide the smile that seemed to fill his whole heart. "If Sean says you're a good dancer, then I'd wager he's right. The lad is full of himself, but he takes the dance very seriously."
They moved as one across the dirt floor, but he couldn't quite get her to look into his eyes. He needed to see into hers---to discover if she might be feeling the same things he was. The song wore on and blended into another. Alaina started to pull away with a practiced thanks, but he would have none of it.
"Another?" he asked, capturing her gaze and this time holding it.
"All right." She sounded a bit breathless, her eyes bright, cheeks rosy. She had to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
"Torin," Sean called to him from the sidelines. Probably wanting another turn with Alaina, but he was not disposed to give him one so readily.
He ignored his friend and danced with her again, another waltz that allowed him to hold her fast in his arms. He had a feeling that Colm chose the tunes to further his quest. She moved with him as if they'd been dancing this way forever, her gaze transfixed to the center of his chest.
"You're a vision tonight," he told her. Her dark eyes met his and she smiled.
"Thank you." Alaina cleared her throat. "So are you---I mean, you look very handsome."
Torin bit his tongue to keep from laughing. "Thank you."
He'd spent much time in the company of Sean and Tom O'Malley, both of them gave him quite an earful about his refusing to marry such a lovely woman. Sean seemed almost delighted in the situation---too delighted. Something in Sean's manner made Torin feel a bit more protective of the woman in his arms. He knew the other man would take her from him with no qualms on the marrow. But the thought of losing her to another man made him ache as if someone had cut out his very heart.
"The music is wonderful," she said, raising her voice to be heard above the din. "I quite enjoyed your playing."
"Thank you," he replied, unable to keep himself from staring at her delicate features. She was so very lovely.
The crush of dancers forced them closer together so that their thighs brushed on several occasions. Torin couldn't help but watch her as they slowly circled the room. Her breath grew more labored by the moment until she finally tripped over the hem of her gown.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as he caught her securely against his chest. "Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive," he said as he gazed down into her enormous eyes. A man could gladly drown in their amber depths.
"Please..." she whispered.
Torin frowned a little. "Please?"
Alaina's eyes grew even wider and she practically jumped from his arms. "I...it...it's rather hot in here," she stammered. "I need some air."
With a nod, Torin set her upright, grasped her by the hand and led her across the floor, between the twirling dancers and through the gauntlet of smiling spectators. By the front door, Seamus and his brother, David, were arguing over a woman from the sound of it. Torin led her quickly around the two drunken men and out into the cool night air.
"Torin, old man, wait!"
He turned and almost groaned out loud as Sean jogged up to them.
"Miss Ryan is tired---"
"Nay, 'tis not about the dance," Sean panted, then smiled at Alaina with a bow of his head. Always the charmer, that one. "Begging your pardon, lass, but I need to speak to O'Brien here."
"Go ahead, you can tell me now."
Sean cocked his head and cast Torin a questioning look. "All right then, if that's the way you want it. I was just talking with Morrison's father, seems there's a rumor being spread in the east---one you should be mindful of."
"Tell me and be done with it."
"It concerns Alaina and her da." He glanced about and stepped closer, voice low so only they could hear. "Seems the English have heard the two of them are in league with the Fennians."
Torin couldn't believe his ears. "Where on God's green earth did they get such an insane notion?"
Sean shrugged. "Don't know. But I'm thinking it might be a grand way for someone to stir up a mite of trouble for you as well."
Torin felt his blood run cold. "Doogan."
"Aye, my first thought, exactly." He looked at Alaina. "Unless, of course, the rumor has some truth to it?"
She shook her head. "Who are the Fennians?" she asked.
"Ssshhh," Sean hissed as he glanced around to see if anyone might be listening. "They're a group of Irishmen who want a free Ireland---and they aren't afraid to fight for her."
"But they haven't a hope in hell," Torin said, then smiled ruefully. "My apologies, Alaina, but 'tis a dangerous thing they're trying to do."
"A noble thing," Sean added indignantly and Torin shrugged.
"Aye, perhaps that, too," he conceded. "But for the English to think you and your father may be involved..."
Sean and Alaina stared at him as if waiting for him to solve this dilemma. But Torin was fairly sure he couldn't.
"I need to speak with your father," he told her. "Will you stay with Sean until I return?"
Alaina nodded mutely, a dark cloud of worry already settled over her lovely face.
"We can clear this up directly," he assured her, though he felt the cad for lying.
\*
He found Ryan sitting on the sidelines, watching the festivities as he tapped his foot in time to the music. While his mother was nowhere in sight, Torin knew she had been spending the evening at the older man's side. He sat down beside him in a vacant chair and returned his smiling greeting.
"Having a good time, lad?" Ryan asked as he watched the dancers.
"Aye, but there's something I need to be speaking with you about."
Ryan didn't look his way but raised a brow. "Go on then, what's on your mind?"
"We've heard a rumor that you've joined with the Fennians."
Patrick continued to watch the dancers, his expression the same. "Fennians? I don't believe I've heard of them."
"Don't give me that blarney, old man," Torin scolded. "Any Irishman worth his salt has at least heard of them. What I need to know is how deep you are? And Alaina?"
Ryan sighed. "I was approached by a lad a few months before my last bout of illness," he admitted. "He made a good case for himself and I was interested."
"But you became sick," Torin prompted.
"Aye, and he vanished. I'd forgotten all about it until he appeared on the boat from Virginia."
"What did he say?"
"That I owed it to Ireland. That I made my fortune and now I should repay my country with the means to gain her freedom."
"And what did you do?"
"I explained to him I could do nothing at the moment since my funds were in the bank and I would not do anything while traveling with my daughter. I won't involve her in anything dangerous, not even for God himself."
Torin examined Ryan's face carefully and knew without doubt that he told truth when it came to Alaina.
"What was his name---the chap on the boat?"
He shook his head. "Said 'twas Finn Dell, though I doubt it. But he was with that bastard that tried to force himself on us at the pier. The one that hurt my daughter."
"Doogan?" Torin sat back in confusion. "He doesn't have a patriotic bone in his body! He'd sell his own mother, let alone Ireland, if the price were high enough."
"Do you think he had anything to do with this rumor?"
"Aye, could be," Torin said thoughtfully. "If he thought hurting you would hurt me, then to be sure he'd be the first one I'd suspect."
"Why does the man hate you?"
"He blames me for the death of his sister, Brigit."
"Ah, I see the way of it now." Ryan sat in silence, watching the party. "Are you going to be telling me your side of things, lad?"
"You'll believe me?"
"Aye, if it be the truth," he said with a direct look. "You're the son of the two grandest people that I've ever known. You've got to have some of that in you. Go on, tell me what really happened. For you know I cannot give my inion to a man I do not trust."
An understanding passed between them then and there. Ryan knew somehow---knew what Torin was feeling before he had himself, no doubt. No doubt convinced that long ago bond between two friends would somehow be forged as they had hoped.
"Brigit and I were lovers," Torin said, knowing the man would only accept bluntness at this point. "She became pregnant and I wanted to marry her, to do the right thing by her and the babe. Da was livid, and Mum sad more than anything. But Brigit's family..." He shook his head at the memory. "Her family hated the very sight of me. He refused to let us marry and so we decided to elope. She was to meet me at Doonagore, but she wasn't there. I waited for her 'til sunrise, but she didn't come. I thought her father had found out and stopped her leaving. Later the next day, they found her body on the rocks below."
"They accused you of killing her?"
"Aye, her brother was sure she'd changed her mind and I killed her in a jealous rage. But they had no proof---just the ranting of an angry brother."
"What of her father?"
Torin shrugged. "He drank himself to death some months later. But by then, half the Burren was convinced I was a murderer."
Patrick shook his head, his thin mouth drawn into a grim line. "Gossip is a treacherous thing. I know. But as I said before, you have your parents' spirit about you. I believe you. Otherwise I'd never give you me blessing."
"What am I needing that for, Ryan? There can be nothing for us."
"You love her, don't you lad? Or am I really getting that old and foolish?"
Torin stared at the man a moment before he shook his head, his throat suddenly thick with tears. "Nay, you're not foolish. I love her."
"And you want her, aye?"
He could only nod again.
"Then you have me blessing. But mind she's got a strong will and some new fangled opinions on things. If you give her the respect she deserves and the gentle lovin' she craves, you ought to have a long and happy life together."
"Aye, that I'd gladly do, Ryan," Torin said. "But I'm not sure how she's feeling about me. She's strong as steel one moment and shaking like a leaf the next."
Patrick waved a hand in dismissal. "She's got stars in her eyes and a fire in her belly," he said with a grin. Then his smile faded and a dark, troubled look settled over his weathered face. "The fear...well, that's up to her to tell, not me. Just be good to her, lad. I don't want to be a bastard of a father-in-law, but I will if you hurt my lass."
Torin grinned back and clapped him on the shoulder. "You have my permission to do so should I ever forget what I treasure I've found."
He stood and glanced around the room to where he finally spotted Alaina in Sean's arms. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dance waiting for me. I hope."
He watched as they glided across the floor in a seemingly effortless waltz. Alaina gazed up at Sean, her eyes dancing as she laughed at some comment he'd made. Hot white jealousy ripped through Torin's heart. How could she be so at ease with his friend and still uncomfortable with him? Maybe she didn't trust him after all. Patrick had said she'd explain things herself, but how could he stand by and wait for that? He felt as though he stood on pins and needles---each doubt pricked deeper than the last.
He cringed in self-disgust. Why should she trust him? With the way he had held her and kissed her so many long, lonely nights ago? The way he had displayed himself, even unintentionally, before her innocent eyes?
Of course she still feared him. He might not be a murderer, but he could not be trusted all the same. Not with something as precious as her sweet virtue.
God how he wanted her---even now.
Torin headed to the table where bottles of poteen stood in a row. Guilt and anger clawed at him like a vicious beast. He grasped one by the neck and sunk back against the wall to watch the dance.
She was so beautiful with her eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed from exertion. He took a deep pull from the bottle and let the liquid burn a path down his throat as his eyes watered.
The music changed to a jig and he thought for a moment that she would beg off. But somehow Sean convinced her to stay. Torin ground his teeth together before taking another long drag on the bottle. The liquor slid down his throat. He watched her, taking in the way the light sparked off her dark hair, piled high against the crown of her head. The tresses seemed to long to escape their confines with each step of the dance.
Her hair would feel like silk in his hands, he knew. It would encase them both in a cocoon of fire as she straddled him. Torin shook his head and made a half-hearted attempt to shove the erotic image from his mind. But it hovered there at the fringes of his imagination.
The tempo increased almost measure by measure. Sean laughed as many of the other dancers gave up and moved aside. Alaina kept up with him though, her breasts rising and falling as her breath quickened.
Torin stared as his mind reeled. Those sweet, tempting breasts would fill his hands to overflowing. He pressed his back to the wall and took another drag of poteen. He didn't even taste the brew.
His head spun with the music and images of Alaina, naked and wanton as she hovered over him. Surrounding him. Letting him fill her. He tried to stop the fantasy, but to no avail. It had been so long...so very long since he'd last held a woman in his arms. Even longer since a woman had meant anything to him beyond a quick release.
And so he watched, and wanted, and dreamed. His body grew warm and heavy as the music came to a frenzied peak. Then with a final chord, it ended. Sean grabbed Alaina in his arms and swung her around in the air, much to the delight of the cheering crowd.
Torin longed to punch the bastard flat.
Alaina turned then, as if searching for something or someone. When their gazes locked, her smile wavered and faded. He saw the frown pass over her pretty face---the confusion. And he couldn't stand it for another second. With his back to her, he left the party, shoved his way past the drunken revelers and stalked into the cool, crisp night until he reached the lake.
"Torin?"
Dear God, she'd followed him.
"Don't."
Her soft footsteps stopped a short distance behind. "Don't, what?"
"Come near me---not now."
"Why?" she asked, her voice confused and hurt. "What have I done? Are you ill?"
"Nay, not the way you're thinking." He took a deep breath of cool air, but it brought with it the faint odor of flowers emanating from her skin. "You know you can't be trusting me."
"Can't...?" She sighed with frustration. "But of course I trust you. Why would you think otherwise?"
He rounded on her then and waved a hand at the cottage. "Then how can you dance with Sean as easy as you please, but fall apart when I come near you? Why does my touch make you tremble, Alaina? Why do you still fear me so if you trust me?"
She stood silent for a moment, hands folded together at her waist. "Because Sean doesn't make me feel the way you do. He doesn't..." She looked down at the ground. "He doesn't make my heart race. He doesn't make me feel all warm and strange inside."
She looked back up into his eyes then and took a small step closer, fingers twisted together. "He doesn't make my body ache," she said. "You do, Torin. And it frightens me a little. I...I've never felt like this before. I've never wanted a man to touch me before. Not like this."
He could only stare as the truth of her words penetrated the fog of his drunken haze. "You want me to touch you?"
She nodded mutely and he saw her bottom lip quiver. Then he gathered her into his arms and held her fast. The warmth of her stole around him; her soft sigh filled his heart to bursting. He held her as the music drifted on the breeze with the sound of laughter.
"I love you, Alaina," he whispered. She went still as stone in his arms. "I tried not to...believe me. I fought hard to keep you at arms length."
"Why?" she asked against his chest.
"Because I couldn't bear to hurt you. I didn't want you to live beneath the shadow of my guilt---my past."
She pulled away from him then, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "There's something you need to know about me, Torin. Something...something from my past."
He braced himself, afraid of what she had to say and relieved she finally trusted him with her secrets.
"Is it what put that fear in your eyes? That guilt you can't let go?"
"Yes."
"Then you must tell me. 'Tis the only way to heal."
She was silent so long that he thought she would change her mind. But she took a deep breath and leaned back into him, as if for support.
"There was a young man...an acquaintance of many years," she began, then took another deep breath. Torin felt the pain of her grief and guilt as if it were his own. "I shouldn't have been alone with him but I...I was so lonely and he had always been kind. Mama was sick, my brother Michael disappeared in battle. Daddy had ridden off to search the wounded for him. I-I was alone.
"We went riding together. I didn't know what he wanted. But something in his eyes frightened me. He...he---"
Torin wrapped his arms tightly about her waist and held her securely as she took unsteady breaths.
"What did he do?" he asked, afraid of the answer but needing to know all the same. How deep were the scars she bore? Could he help heal them?
"He ripped my dress and threw me to the ground. I screamed and he held a knife to my throat. He said he'd kill me if I didn't stop. If I'd fought him..."
Torin squeezed his eyes shut as the image of her humiliation branded itself onto his mind. Impotent anger surged through him, followed by tenderness he never knew he could possess.
"He..." She shook her head. "He..." Her words caught and Torin drew her into his arms.
"You don't have to say more."
He felt her nod against his chest. "Yes, yes I do. I need to tell you what happened that day---why I seem so frightened all the time. Why I can never marry. I'm not...pure, Torin. That vile man took the one thing from me that can never be returned. He raped me."
"Hush, now," he implored. "It was not your fault, Alaina! You have no blame in this and you are one of the purest women I've ever met." He stroked her back with one hand as anger and tears clogged his throat. "Men such as that deserve little more than a noose and shallow grave."
"Well, he got his," she said. "James killed him."
"James? How did he find you?"
"Nanny Rose sent him looking for me. She always seemed to know when I was in trouble. When I needed someone. James didn't have any choice...the man had gone crazy...he was so violent. We never told anyone. Then James took me home and bandaged my wounds as best he could. Daddy never knew."
She looked at him then, the ghosts still lingering in her tear-filled eyes. "Don't tell, him! Please, it would do no good. Not now. It would kill him. He would only blame himself."
Torin shook his head and gathered her closer. "I won't tell, darlin'. I won't tell a soul."
"I've been afraid ever since---scared of my own shadow for years, afraid of any man who approached. But---" She looked at him again with such trust that it made him ache inside. "I'm not afraid with you. Not since that first day. I feel safe in your arms."
"I'll never hurt you."
"But it does hurt," she insisted, a catch to her voice. "It hurts to think of leaving Ireland. Of leaving you."
"You don't have to go, Alaina."
She frowned in confusion. "But, you don't want a wife and I really don't think I could stay here and not be with you."
He gently wiped a tear from her cheek as he felt his own begin to burn his eyes.
"I lied---to you, to myself. I want you more than I want my next breath. If you leave Ireland, I'll follow. I cannot let you go, even if I should."
The hope burgeoning in her eyes dulled for a moment. "Should? Why should you let me go? Am I so wrong for you? Because of what happened...?"
He shook his head. "'Tis my past that's wrong. I'll always be a murderer in the eyes of many. They'll never let the past rest. No matter what, that image of me will never fade. I cannot have much of a future with that hanging over my head and I should not even think of asking you to share it."
"Gossip means nothing."
"But it does," he insisted. "You try to ignore it, rise above it, but you always find yourself locked in the past. I don't belong here anymore. I'm not sure where I do belong, except with you by my side. So I shouldn't ask it of you, but I will. I've found I'm a selfish devil, after all. I'll not cut out my own heart to save face, to save you the scandal. Never again. If you're willing to face the future with me." Torin took both her hands in his but the words stuck in his throat. "Dance with me."
She frowned at him for a moment before she drifted back into his arms and let her body settle flush with his. It should have been scandalous, but it felt so right. Torin wished she could burrow even deeper...to become one with him...to forever be safe.
The music flowed around them---a sorrowful ballad of tragic lovers. Alaina swayed with him, their bodies pressed together from chest to knee. He could feel the beat of her heart and her breath at his neck. Never before had he felt such a sense of belonging.
"Marry me," he murmured against her ear. Her steps faltered.
"You...you really want me? After all I've told you?"
His arms tightened about her. "I've lived a lonely life, darlin', and so have you. I think we need each other. I know I love you more than I ever thought I could love."
Tears filled her eyes as she smiled up at him.
"I love you," she whispered. "And I'd be honored to become your wife."
Relief and joy that swept over him, lightening his heart more than anything had ever done.
"But," she added. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you. That I won't be able to...to please you."
Her meaning was clear and he smiled at her softly. "Lass, you could never disappoint me. I'm a patient man. I can wait till you're ready. And I think the pleasing should work both ways. We'll learn together."
\*
Alaina tucked her head beneath his chin, her cheek to his chest and sighed. The whole idea still frightened her a bit---yet she couldn't ignore the little tremor of excitement, that simmering warmth that filled her when she thought of Torin. His touch and his kiss were enough to light the darkness and chase away the shadows that plagued her since the summer her innocence had been lost.
As they swayed to the music, she could feel a change wash over him. What began as a tender, protective embrace now felt different somehow. Instead of fear, curiosity overcame her---and desire. She snuggled more securely along the steel length of his body and felt him shudder slightly, as if from a chill. Then he cleared his throat.
"Time for us to be going back to the ceili," he said. His tone sounded strained.
"Not yet," she whispered, unmindful of the danger she could sense lurking in the tension that grew between them.
"Darlin'...we must."
With a sigh, she pulled away. A wave of cold desolation washed over her as the evening breeze wrapped around her body where his strong arms had been. Torin reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand.
"I'll speak with your da tonight, if that's to your liking?"
"Yes, please do."
"I confess though, he somewhat gave me his blessing before."
"I'm not surprised. He's waited for this day for many years."
"Aye...and I'm thinking I did as well. My dad must be dancing a jig with knowing he was right all along."
"I'm sure he's very happy and proud of you, Torin. Any father would be."
Tears sprang to his eyes as a soft breeze blew across the surface of the water, fragmenting the stars and moon reflected there.
"Aye," he said. "I think you may be right." He gathered her hands in his and kissed them gently. "I'll ask the priest to post the announcements. We can wed in three weeks."
A look of guilt crossed over her face. "Oh, Torin! He already has...posted them, I mean."
Torin moved a step closer, his expression a myriad of confusion, humor and pleasure. "What are talking about?"
She told him of the priest's visit and his well-meaning intent that neither she nor Maggie had corrected. "I'm sorry, we should have said something but your mother---"
Torin chuckled. "Don't be, darlin'. It's just another sign that this was fated from the beginning." His acceptance warmed her from the inside out. "This only means we can marry all the sooner. I'll have to ask him before he leaves. Perhaps..."
"What?"
He frowned a bit as if wondering whether to speak his thoughts aloud. "Do you want a big wedding? With all that goes into it?"
She pressed herself closer, ducking her head as a sudden shyness overwhelmed her. But still she found the courage to answer him honestly. "I'd rather be married as soon as possible."
He gently tilted her chin up. "What worries you?"
It was foolish, she knew that. But Alaina couldn't shake the foreboding that seemed to envelop her thoughts. Instead of trying to explain, she shook her head. "I don't want you to have a chance to change your mind."
His sensuous grin lit his entire face and her heart began to race. "Not a chance of that, darlin'. You've made your bed and soon..." He leaned closer. "Soon you'll have to lie in it."
The words sent a frisson of desire down her spine, where it then spiraled lower as his lips met hers. Still a niggling doubt, a spark of fear lingered, but after a moment she let herself sink into the roaring flame of his kiss.
\*
"Saints be praised!" her father shouted. The room fell into utter silence as all eyes turned to him, Alaina and Torin standing at his side. She felt as if her cheeks must be on fire, but Torin couldn't have looked more pleased.
"Of course you have my blessing, lad. You've had it nigh on thirty years!" Patrick stood and smiled at the now silent and curious crowd. "Everyone, I'm pleased and honored to announce the engagement of my daughter, Alaina to Torin O'Brien."
Cheers and clapping filled the room as everyone rejoiced in the news.
"So he wizened up then?" Colm asked over the din. Everyone laughed.
"Aye," Sean added. "He was afraid I'd steal her away."
"Nay, I worried your sorry jokes might send her back to America," Torin replied, much to everyone's delight.
"Well, now, we have a great deal to celebrate then, don't we?" Patrick asked. "Play us another song! I feel like dancing with me inion."
Before Alaina could protest, he led her to the middle of the dance floor as the musicians began to play. She glanced back in time to see several women gather around Torin, including his mother who pulled his head down and soundly kissed him on the cheek.
"This is what you're wanting, right lass?" her father asked as he led her in a slow waltz.
"Yes, more than anything," she said. "I love him, Daddy. He's kind and intelligent."
"And handsome?"
She felt the blood rise in her face. "Yes." Alaina paused. "I've never felt like this with any other man. He...he makes me feel special."
Her father's eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. "Good, for I could not give my baby girl to anyone less deserving."
"I suppose you're quite pleased with yourself," she said.
Her father's face shown with a radiance she hadn't seen in many years. "That I am. I couldn't bear to leave you alone in the world, my love. Not without knowing you would be loved and cared for."
Her step faltered a bit at his words. "Don't be foolish, Daddy. You're stronger than ever---getting more so every day. In a year or so you'll be bouncing grandbabies on your knees." She glanced around them and spotted Torin dancing with his mother. "Perhaps you'll be renewing your own lost youth with a lovely red-haired lass I know."
His pale cheeks turned pink and he cleared his throat. "Now who's gone daft, I ask you? I am the last man on God's green earth to be thinking of romance."
"No, I'd say that man would be Father Morris." Alaina laughed at the look he gave her. "Daddy, I understand things that never quite made sense before. But you and Maggie...you both have quite a few years of living ahead of you. Why not take a chance and see what happens? If nothing else, you've got a lifelong friend."
"Alaina, I want you to know nothing improper ever happened. And despite your mother's misguided thinking, I was always faithful to her. But I...I never quite forgot." Her father missed a step as Maggie and Torin danced by them.
"Have you told her?" Alaina asked.
Her father shook his head. "Nay, of course not."
"What are you waiting for?" she asked. "You're not getting any younger, Daddy. Do something before you lose your second chance."
He stopped dancing and frowned at her for a long moment. Then with small nod, he leaned a bit on her arm as they threaded their way through the crowd of dancers to where Maggie and Torin stood.
"Torin, lad, the young lady would like to trade partners." He held his hand out to Maggie. "As would I."
When he took Maggie by the hand, she had a shy, bashful air about her like a schoolgirl in love instead of widowed mother of six.
"Aye, that would be lovely," she said and settled into Patrick's arms. They slowly waltzed off together.
"About time," Torin said softly.
"Aye," Alaina agreed.
He laughed and then scooped her up into his arms and twirled away through the crowd.
"You are an amazing woman," he told her.
Alaina heard the love in his tone, felt the gentle strength of his arms. It was as if the world shifted beneath her feet. "I want them to be as happy as we are. You don't mind?"
"Not a bit. Mum deserves a little more happiness in her life. If your father's the man to be giving it, then I'll have little worries of him interfering with mine."
Her heart swelled and she wondered briefly how it was possible for any one person to love another so completely.
"The priest and I had a little talk," he told her as they danced. "I finally convinced him we're not in need a church roof to say our vows."
Alaina stopped as the other couples waltzed by. "What are you saying?"
"He offered to marry us tonight."
Her heart fluttered. "Tonight?"
"Aye, if you'd like?" he questioned, uncertainty in his gaze. "If not---"
"Oh, yes," she said quickly, then cleared her throat. "I think that would be wonderful, since everyone is here already. But are you sure, Torin? Is this what you want?"
"More than anything, lass." The touch of his finger on her cheek sent a little chill down her spine. "What I don't want is waste another moment of my life without you in my arms."
"Then let's get married," she said. "Tonight."
He took her by the hand and all but ran up to the stage. The musicians stopped playing and a hush fell like a wave over the room.
"We've come to a decision, thanks to the Father's foresight in posting banns some weeks ago," he said with a smile. She laughed with the others as the old priest, standing to one side with a cup in his hand, winked at Torin. "Alaina and I would like to take advantage of the situation. We're going to be married. Tonight."
Several gasps echoed across the room and many started to murmur. "That is," he added as he turned to find Mary Kate and Tom in the crowd. "If it be to the liking of our host and hostess? Mary Kate?"
"Oh! Married?" she exclaimed. "Here? Now?"
"If you don't mind," Alaina added.
"'Tis a grand idea!" her cousin cried, clapping her hands in delight. "We're having a wedding! Oh, this is so exciting! Quick, lads, clear some room. We'll need a small stool and a bit of wine..." She bustled out into the crowd, shouting orders and directing the others as cheers and laughter erupted around them.
"Move fast now, lad," her father said as he reached them with Maggie at his side. "'Tis the best way. Then they don't get it in their heads to change their answer." Then with a serious scowl, Patrick turned to his daughter. "This is what you're wanting, lass?"
"Yes, Daddy," she said as she embraced him. "Very much."
"Well, then, looks like we're having a wedding." With a bit of tears in his eyes, he clapped Torin on the arm and smiled. "Just be remembering our earlier conversation, boy-o."
"That I will, Patrick," Torin replied. "That I will."
The ceremony was simple and quick, but Alaina heard little of it beyond the words they pledged to one another. Women in the room cried quietly while many of the men stood grinning from ear to ear. She had never seen a more informal wedding---nor had she ever felt such good wishes at one, either. After the priest pronounced them husband and wife, a flurry of applause erupted throughout the room and into the yard where some had gathered in the balmy night to listen.
Then the party began in earnest and Alaina knew she hadn't danced as much in her entire life as she did that night. Passed from partner to partner, only on occasion did she catch sight of her new husband---each time the promise in his smile made her heart flutter.
Hour sped upon hour and the music and liquor flowed freely. Somewhere in the wee hours of the morn, Alaina excused herself and crept out to the privy, her heart still afloat and mind reeling from the revelations of the night. As she stepped out into the open once again, a sudden chill washed over her. She glanced about and saw little but the moon low on the horizon and a thin line of golden sun beginning to light the eastern sky.
She started back to the cottage, humming a tune softly as she stepped gingerly over the limestone. A sudden, sharp pain in her head made her gasp and the dark purple sky seemed to glitter with colored stars. As her vision faded to black, Alaina thought she heard a sound down a long, dark tunnel---a deep evil laugh.
A hot dagger of pain sliced through her head as she edged toward consciousness. Alaina winced and tried to open her eyes, but the light was almost blinding. After a moment she became aware of each aching limb and joint. It felt as if she'd been dragged over stones.
"Well, well," a deep ominous voice drawled. "Seems O'Brien's whore is finally awake."
Something slithered over her skin and settled heavily against her midriff. Her stomach churned with fear as Alaina opened her eyes and swallowed. It took a moment for her vision to adjust. Almost at the same instant, she realized a noose of rough rope circled her neck and snaked down her middle to where a large coil rested on her belly. She blinked against the morning sun and slowly looked around, all the while dreading the sight of her captor.
"Nothing to say, lass?" Doogan asked. She stared at him and willed away the fear that made her stomach knot. He looked worse than the last time she'd seen him---the morning she'd defended herself and beaten him into the dirt. But today was another story. He had caught her unaware and now had the upper hand. She instinctively tried to move away as he leaned closer, only to find her wrists and ankles were bound by the same cord.
"You'll not be going anywhere, bitch," he said in an almost pleasant tone. "Not until your lover comes to call. Then...well, I've not decided that yet." He trailed a single, dirty finger down her cheek, chuckling when she flinched. "You've got spirit, 'tis sure. It might make for an interesting afternoon romp." His bloodshot gaze raked down her body as he spoke. "Aye, I could have me a grand time before I send you over the cliff."
She blinked back the tears and struggled to move. "I'll kill you first."
His grin widened. "Ah, now there would be a pity. Never know lass---you might enjoy a real man touching you." He gripped her chin with his large, rough hand and squeezed. Tears of pain blurred her vision as he leaned closer. "I could make your last hours a pleasure or painful beyond your wildest dreams. Makes no difference to me."
"Then go ahead and kill me now," she told him. "I'll never submit to you otherwise."
He made a face of disgust. "Be a fool then. All I need you for is O'Brien."
Alaina glanced cautiously around them at the sound of thunder. "He won't follow us. He has no idea where we are and we quarreled earlier. Torin has no interest in me."
"Oh, he knows where you've gone---of that I made sure. And you're a terrible liar, Miss Ryan...or should I say, Mrs. O'Brien? The man has soft spot for pretty whores like you. Must be why he married you, aye? He'll be round shortly."
He stood and walked away from her, giving Alaina a chance to take in her surroundings. She had her back to an outcropping of stone. Soft grass sprung up from the hard earth beneath her cheek as the wind blew dark clouds over the early morning sky.
From the smells of the sea and sounds of waves crashing against hard rock, she knew they were at the cliffs. Had this been the same spot where young Brigit had met her fate?
Alaina shivered as the damp breeze chilled her skin. A wave of panic rose up inside her---one akin to the day she'd found herself alone and at the mercy of a so-called friend. But this man was never a friend and she couldn't rely on someone riding to her rescue. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. Her heart's desire at her very fingertips, she could never let anyone take that away from her without a fight.
The sound of her captor's steps alerted her to his return as she lay twisting the rope that bound her wrists.
"Don't waste your strength, lass," he said. "I've bound you well enough. You won't be escaping so easy now. And look at it this way. If the O'Brien does what I want, I just might let you go again. Or maybe I'll just pitch you over the side as he did my sister, aye? Are you afraid of heights, Miss Ryan? Brigit was. She had nightmares of falling off these bloody cliffs. And that's why I want to kill the bastard---for taking her from me just like in her dreams."
She narrowed her gaze, angry at the way he tried to play on her fear. "He didn't kill Brigit! And he'll never submit to the likes of you---you're nothing but a brute! He's a kind, gentle man. He would never have hurt her like that."
"You have a high and mighty opinion of your lover, don't you?"
"He's not my lover!"
His eyes danced with hellish delight. "Ah, now, so O'Brien really has changed his ways. Or maybe you're too much a woman for him to handle?"
He kneeled on the ground beside her, the lust evident in his eyes. With one hand he grasped the neckline of her dress and lifted a knife from his boot. She winced as he slid the blade through the cotton; the sound of it tearing apart seemed loud in her ears. The cold breeze on her thinly covered breasts made her shiver. Alaina looked up at the darkening sky as she blinked back tears and prayed silently for deliverance and strength.
"Ah, don't be like that, lass," he murmured as he then tore away the chemise and exposed her completely. "You know you long for a man's touch---a real man would have taken you to bed the day you landed on this rock." He traced her breasts with the sharp tip of the knife and she cried out as it cut her flesh. Doogan grinned. "O'Brien would disappoint you. But I'll show you how good it can be."
He pulled back the knife and began to loosen his breeches. Alaina could feel her heart pounding as if it might fly right out of her chest. She squirmed against the ropes and felt the rough hemp scrape at her skin. A chance. All she needed was a chance to get away. If only he would remove the rope from her neck and feet. She was too vulnerable otherwise.
"How can I enjoy anything while I'm trussed up like an animal?"
He stopped and raised a brow. "I'm not a stupid man. You won't talk me into untying you."
"At least take the thing off my neck so..." She swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. "...so I can help you."
"Help me? And just what do I need help with?"
She felt the heat rise in her face and forced herself to look into his eyes. If ever she needed to be a good liar, the time was now. "I know things...things a man likes." She licked her dry lips and noticed his gaze followed the movement intently. "But I can't do them with my head in a noose."
"And where would a high society lass learn such things? You're lying."
"I snuck out to the slave cabins when I was young and curious. I used to watch the men and women together---they were very...passionate. I know what to do, but I've never done it before."
Doogan snorted. "I'm not sure I believe you, lass. Why don't you give me a little demonstration first? If I like it, then I'll take off the noose."
Panic welled up and threatened to shred her last bit of control. Alaina shook her head, the rope dug into her neck and she coughed. "I-I can't..." she gasped as she spoke, her fear and the friction of rope on flesh making it hard to breath.
She couldn't go through with it. What had she done? If he had agreed to remove the noose, then she could have defended herself at least a bit. She might have gotten away. But she would rather die than have to pleasure the filthy evil beast in that way.
"That's what I thought," he sneered. "If I put myself into your mouth I'd likely have it bitten off, wouldn't I? Wouldn't I?" he yelled as he tugged the noose tighter, then let go. Alaina gasped for air.
"Enough talk, 'tis time for play," he panted as he tried to kneel between her thighs. "Open your legs."
She averted her eyes from his open fly. "I can't," she whispered on the verge of tears. "You've tied my ankles too close together."
He cursed and lifted the knife. Alaina squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for a quick death, but he sliced the rope between her feet and rolled her over onto her back, her hands crushed beneath her own weight.
"There now," he muttered. "We'll do this the old-fashioned way first."
"Please," she found herself begging as tears coursed down her face. "Don't..."
"Come lass," he huffed as he lifted her skirts higher and lowered his full weight upon her. The smell of his sweat and rancid breath made her want to vomit. "It can be good for both of us. Just relax a bit...'twill be better for you then. Hell, you might even enjoy it."
"No." She closed her eyes and prayed for oblivion if salvation were out of her reach.
A fierce bellow like that from the ancient warrior Celts rattled her eardrums. She opened her eyes to see Doogan staring, dumbfounded before he rolled off of her and onto his feet.
"Bastard! You'll die!"
Doogan crouched low and then leapt across her body, only to be met by a hard mountain of flesh and anger. Torin tackled him to the ground as Alaina watched. They rolled about in the dirt as punches and curses flew in rapid succession.
A touch at her arm and Alaina screamed and began to flail her unbound legs to get away. "Alaina!" a familiar voice called. "'Tis me, Sean! Hush now, lass. You're safe."
The words finally registered and she looked up at Torin's friend. His blue eyes were filled with concern. "Here lass." He glanced over his shoulder at the men still brawling. "Let's sit you up."
"The rope," she whispered. He turned her on her side and winced.
"Bastard," he muttered as he began to work at loosening the knot that bound her wrists. "I bloody well ought to help Torin beat him to a pulp."
A moment later he helped her sit up and unwound the rope from her throat, cringing as he did so. A trickle of blood slipped down her neck and slid over her naked breast. Alaina realized how exposed she was and tried to cover herself as tears of relief and humiliation burned her eyes.
"Here, lass," Sean said as he shrugged out of his coat. "Take this." He helped her put it on and did up the buttons when it was clear she couldn't with the numbness in her hands. Warmth enveloped her and she snuggled deep within the woolen garment as she sought out Torin.
Some yards away, he rose to his knees, breathing hard as Doogan lay in an unmoving, bloodied heap on the ground in front of him. Torin's face was dark with fury as he kneeled over the other man, breathing hard and wiping blood from his mouth.
"God I hate this place," Sean said, almost as if he spoke to himself. "Such a horror for her---to fall from this accursed cliff as she always feared." He shook his head and smiled softly at Alaina. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
She bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. "No, not really. Nothing that won't heal."
Sean looked over at Torin and an understanding seemed to pass between them. Then he helped her to her feet as the man she loved struggled to his alone.
"You should die for this," Torin said to Doogan, grabbing a handful of the battered man's collar. "If you had..." His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath as he dropped Doogan back to the earth. "Leave Ireland and never come back. I'm not going to prove myself the murderer everyone thinks me to be. You've failed in that. Now go...go and never return."
"I'll go...when I'm...damn well good and...and ready," Doogan said, his words slurred as his head lolled from side to side on the ground.
"You'd best be ready, then. I won't kill you, but I won't stop any man that tries to do so. And from what I've heard tell, Alaina isn't the only lass you've violated since you've come home."
"Prove it."
"I don't have to," Torin said. "But you do---if you live long enough." He left his adversary lying in the dirt and walked to where Alaina stood with Sean at her side. "Darlin'?" His eyes filled with tears that he blinked away. "Are you sure you're all right now?"
She nodded silently and took a half step away from Sean and into the arms of the man she loved. "Yes, I'm fine," she whispered as he gathered her close to his chest. "You came just in time. I tried...I tried to fight him, but the rope---"
"Shhh, hush now, love," he said. "He'll never hurt you again. No one will ever hurt you as long as I'm living."
Sean cleared his throat and patted Torin on the shoulder. "Take the lass home, boy-o. I'll see the baggage makes the next boat out."
"Don't turn your back on him, Sean."
"Nay, do I look stupid?" He chuckled lightly. "Don't answer that---my ego's taken enough of a beating losing the prettiest lass to you. I'll just drag him down to the pub by his own rope. I'm sure Shannon's lads will be glad to help me get him the rest of the way."
She lifted her head as he walked away. "Sean, thank you."
"For what?" he asked with a frown.
"For being a gentleman."
"Ah, don't be telling such tales! I've got a reputation to protect." He winked and picked up the rope that had bound Alaina, then sauntered toward Doogan as he lay groaning. "Let's go meet the lads, shall we now? I'm sure they'd all like to hear about your notions on courting young women."
Torin turned Alaina away and walked her down the slope away from the cliffs. His strong arm around her shoulders, she felt steady for a few steps. Then lightning flashed across the sky and thunder shook the very rock beneath their feet. Her stomach started to flutter until her entire body quaked and her knees buckled. His arms lifted her as she began to sink to the ground.
"Torin?" His name spilled from her lips as a plea for help. She grasped at his shirt with both hands.
"'Tis the shock," he murmured against her hair. "I'll get you home and warm you up. You'll be good as new in no time."
\*
A raging storm began as they journeyed to Torin's cottage. By the time they reached the door, both of them were soaked to the skin.
He sat her down in a chair by the hearth and went to work building a fire. The turf was dry and caught quickly, the flames soon danced and lengthened until they grew high enough to light the room. Waves of heat billowed outward as the red gold flames crackled in the silence.
When he turned back to Alaina, she hadn't moved except for the tremors that coursed over her. She seemed mesmerized by the fire, unaware of her surroundings otherwise though her teeth chattered and shoulders shook violently beneath her sodden garments.
"Here darlin'," he said as he moved closer and knelt on the floor at her feet. "Let's get you dry and warm again."
She looked at him blankly for a moment and he felt a twinge of fear that the shock had been too great a thing. But then she blinked and seemed to come to herself again.
"Y-yes," she stuttered through quivering lips and lifted her hands to the large buttons of Sean's coat. Her fingers shook and Torin watched for a long painful moment while she tried to work the buttons free.
"Here, let me help," he said, his voice thick with the emotion that rose in his throat. He longed to take the pain upon himself---to soothe her troubled mind and promise he'd keep her safe forevermore. But could he really promise such a thing? They were married now, husband and wife, yet he'd been unable to protect her even in those first hours of their union. His past sins had come back to haunt him and had almost taken her from him in the process.
Torin made short work of the coat buttons and slid the dripping wool from her shoulders. He hesitated but a moment at the thought of removing her dress, but the trust in her dark eyes and the way she shivered helped him make up his mind. He had to get her warm and dry or risk pneumonia.
The torn fabric clung to her breasts but was easily pulled away. His mouth went dry at the sight of her---an almost crippling mixture of lust, anger and sorrow enveloped him as he took in the shallow cuts on her chest. Old scars stood out white and stark on her side. Was that what the bastard had done to her all those years ago? His gut clenched.
He pulled the ruined dress and chemise down over her shoulders, rising on his knees as he did so to tug the fabric down her arms. Then he made a quick decision and grasped the torn opening with both hands and pulled---the sound ripped through the cottage. He pulled her to her feet, slipped the layers down over her hips and off before he tossed the mess to one side. When he looked at her again, Torin's breath caught in his throat. Her dark hair hung wet and loose over her shoulders, some strands caressing the tight rose tips of her full breasts. Only her torn stockings and the wet, translucent drawers remained. The undergarment teasingly revealed the dark juncture at her thighs.
He looked into her eyes. The love and desire he saw there almost brought him to his knees. She wanted him, loved him. It had been so very, very long since he'd lain with a woman. Now she stood before him---his wife, his to love. He felt his body come to life.
But he couldn't take her, not after what had happened. Not after the pain he had indirectly caused.
"Torin," she murmured, a slight note of pleading in her voice.
"Nay," he replied. "You need rest...you need---"
She slid a hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down to her. After she placed a hard, sensuous kiss on his lips, she looked up into his eyes. "I need you. I need your touch to warm me. Make me forget what happened, Torin. Make love to me."
He swallowed hard and lifted her into his arms. Without breaking eye contact, he carried her across the room to his bed. Then he shed his own clothing as she watched him beneath heavy lids. Her gaze lingered on him and took in every movement as he bared himself to her view. It had to be the most erotic sensation he'd ever known.
He knelt beside her on the bed and slowly removed her undergarments. She laid before him, revealed at last to view and so much more beautiful than the image branded in his vivid thoughts. A form of smooth gentle curves...the round, full slopes of her breasts...her dark hair so in contrast with pale, ivory skin.
His heart thundered in his chest as she whispered his name and he lowered himself to her, the chill of her smooth skin to his made him shiver.
"I'll warm you," he said against her neck. She gasped as he kissed the hollow of her throat and at last allowed himself to taste her essence on his tongue, to feel her body beneath him. He could feel her heartbeat flutter between her breasts.
Her moans of pleasure heightened his own until he feared he might lose control long before he could bring her ultimate pleasure.
"My love," he breathed as he moved to lie between her silken thighs. Then he reached down to touch her intimately and she flinched. "I won't hurt you."
"I know," she said. "I want to please you, Torin. I-I don't know what to do."
He couldn't help but smile. "You're doing everything just right, my love. Are you sure you're ready? I said I wouldn't hurt you, but this...this may be painful the first time." The thought of what had happened to her before struck him like a blow to the gut. "I couldn't bear the thought of bringing you pain."
She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, the long sweep of her tongue sent a tingle down his spine. Then she looked into his eyes with such love, it was almost too much to bear. "I know you'll be gentle. I want you to be a part of me. I...I ache for you." She grasped his hand in hers and led him back to her most private place. "I ache for you here," she whispered.
He touched her then, finding the most sensitive flesh, and she gasped, her eyes wide in surprise. "Let yourself feel, darlin'. I'll take care of you. No one will ever hurt you again."
She seemed to melt into his touch then, her eyes closed and lips parted. Passion took over as he bent his head to taste her breasts---the feel of her taut nipple on his tongue made the fire in his blood burn with more intensity. His thoughts clouded until instinct alone led him on...that and the subtle cues of her breathy moans, the way she wriggled beneath him, the way her hands roved over his back and hips.
When she was hot and wet with need, he carefully lifted himself between her thighs. "Wrap your legs around me," he instructed softly. She obeyed without hesitation. "Relax...trust me."
He could feel he was in position and with one quick thrust of his hips, he entered her. She gasped and went still for a moment before she moved as if to draw him nearer.
"More," she whispered and he chuckled.
"Take it slow," he told her, but as she tightened around him, Torin knew was easier said than done. He pushed deeper, her low moan vibrating across his skin.
"Oh...more, please, Torin...I-I need..." her voice trailed off when he relented and did as she asked, hoping only that he could bring her pleasure before his own.
At that moment, she arched beneath him and dug her fingers into his back. He watched her face---the wonder in her dark eyes, the surprise. Then she cried out softly and clutched at his buttocks, pulling him into her as she ground her softness against him. A second later, he felt that ancient but familiar pull and knew his own release was close. By instinct he thrust hard once, twice, three times before the climax overcame him and he couldn't hold back. The sensation took his breath away.
A novice, he wasn't, but he had never felt anything so powerful, so completely fulfilling in all his life. He had made love to a woman for the very first time. It had not been merely an act of physical release, but one of supreme and deep emotion.
"Is...is it always like that?" she whispered beneath him.
Torin rose to his elbows and gazed down at her in wonder. "Nay, darlin'. But I think between us, 'twill always be so."
Alaina smiled a soft smile and wrapped her arms around him, even as her body refused to release his just yet. "I love you. I never knew I could love anyone so very much."
He rained kisses along the line of her jaw, her temple and then slowly withdrew from her heat. Exhaustion weighed heavy upon him, but he gathered her close, spooning her naked body to his as he pulled a blanket around them.
"A ghra moi chroi," he murmured near her ear as she pillowed her head on his arm. "Love of my heart, my dearest wife. Sleep now."
Alaina tucked safely in his bed, Torin sank into the chair by the hearth and let his muscles loosen.
The whiskey in his cup was designed to fight the cold he felt once he climbed out of bed. But watching her sleep across the room, he couldn't help the longing that plagued him. He wanted to crawl back beneath the blanket, take her in his arms and make love to her again. But he was afraid of how strong his emotions were with this woman. Afraid that the incident with Doogan only proved he should have never taken a wife.
Her color was better now---pale instead of its normally healthy glow, but a far cry from the shade of death it had been. Their clothes hung about the hearth, droplets of water puddled on the floor as the heat of the flames dried them.
With a sigh, he sipped the whiskey and again said a prayer of thanks that she seemed none the worse for wear. Then the image of Doogan's cowardly face entered his mind and felt a renewed surge of hate. If anything had happened to her... But she was safe. She would be bruised and sore for a while, but otherwise the damage was not permanent.
Draining the glass with one long gulp, he let the fiery liquid pour down his throat. His eyes lost focus and the weight of exhaustion settled over his limbs. Rising from the chair he crossed to the bed and gazed down at Alaina. Her hair spilled over the pillow. A purple cast under her eyes testified to her ordeal. He longed to take her in his arms and hold her---just to be close to her and assure himself that she was alive and well.
He lowered his body beneath the blankets beside her and stretched to his full length. With extreme care he slid his left arm under her neck, draping the other over her waist on top of the covers. He drifted off to sleep.
\*
It was warm and peaceful and Alaina dreaded the idea of getting up. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light as she tried to focus. It was then that she realized something was wrong.
The pillow on which her head rested was warm and moving. With a start her brain came awake and she lifted her head to have a better look. The knife of pain at her temple made her wince and lay back once more. Then she noticed the heartbeat under her hand. She knew then that she was resting in Torin's arms. The scent of him, the smooth expanse of skin beneath her hand where his nightshirt opened to reveal his chest...the very essence of her husband filled her senses.
Memories assailed her at that moment---the ceili, his declaration of love, their impromptu wedding. And then the memory of Doogan's threats, her rescue and the long walk home through the storm---held fast in her husband's strong arms. As she began to relive their wedding night and making love with Torin, she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. How could she face him this morning after the things they'd done? She had been so insistent, so wanton. But it didn't matter. He loved her and the experience had been the most incredible one of her life. One she hoped to repeat.
As her body came awake, aches and pains radiated through every muscle and joint. The night had not been without a price. Every inch of her felt bruised and battered.
"Good morning, darlin'," Torin whispered against her hair. Alaina smiled and tried once more to lift her head to look at him. The knife twisted a second time and she winced.
"I thought I was dreaming for a moment," she murmured, her cheek upon his chest. "But my head's telling me this is real enough."
He slid his arm out from beneath her and laid her onto the pillows. Rising on one elbow he searched her face with haunted eyes. She thought her heart would melt at the tenderness she saw there---the pain and guilt. She moved to rise.
"Don't try it yet, darlin', not until we know how badly you're hurt." His voice was gentle and soothing. "'Tis fine and safe you are now. No one will harm you, sweet Alaina."
"Doogan," she whispered. "I couldn't get away."
Torin reached a gentle hand to caress her face. "I won't lie to you. If anything had happened, Doogan's life wouldn't be worth a shilling. I almost lost you---" his deep voice broke with emotion, his eyes swam with tears. "Dear God, I almost lost you..."
He buried his face against her neck and the tears fell into her hair. Alaina reached her arms around him, stroking his back and comforting him as pain racked his body. His shoulders shook with silent sobs and she pulled him closer.
"It's all right, Torin," she whispered. "I'm safe...we're together."
His warmth enveloped her once more. He pressed his lips to her neck, suckling the sensitive curve as his whiskers sent little chills of pleasure up and down her spine. Again he seemed unable to resist every part of her---it was as if he could never get enough of tasting, touching. She squirmed beneath him, her body vibrating like a hundred fiddle strings as she sought release from the pent-up desire he ignited.
"A ghra mo choi," Torin breathed against her mouth. He traced his tongue over her lower lip. Alaina moaned and opened her mouth to him. Her arms tightened about his broad shoulders. He moved closer as he lowered his body against hers and pressed her into the mattress.
Her reserve melted in his arms and she pulled him closer. This was heaven. Her body ached for him. Heat spiraled up from within her very center and she begged him to quench the rising flame.
"Love me, Torin," she whispered as his hands moved over her skin. "Make love to me."
"As you wish, dearest wife," he murmured against the soft slope of her breast. Then he looked up at her with a devilish smile. "You have only to ask."
\*
The sun rose to cast the cottage in a warm, rosy gleam. Alaina lay sated, her body still intertwined with her husband's. She wanted to feel content---to trust that their ordeal was over, but something nagged at her. Something on which she couldn't quite lay a finger.
"If anything had happened to you..." Torin said, then his voice trailed off and she felt his struggle to keep the emotions at bay. She only prayed he would be able to absolve himself of the guilt he felt. "It would have been Doogan's ultimate revenge---to have me lose you to the cliffs. God, you must have been so scared. Please forgive me for putting you in the middle of all this."
Alaina frowned. The cliffs...just like Brigit. The other girl had been frightened, no, petrified of the cliffs. She was to meet Torin at Doonagore, not on the cliffs themselves. How had she wound up there? That alone didn't make sense. Either did the knowledge that she had been distraught enough to jump hundreds of feet to her death.
No, there was no way the girl could have jumped. Not with that kind of fear inside her. Alaina understood what such deep-seated terror could do to a person. It was crippling.
"Did everyone know Brigit feared the cliffs?"
He lay silent for a moment. "Nay, she was a quiet lass. Barely spoke to anyone."
Alaina lifted her head as bits of conversation began to gel in her mind. From them, a horrible idea began to form.
"Only those she trusted would know of her fear?"
Torin frowned at her. "Aye, seems logical."
She licked her lips and swallowed as her stomach began to churn. One other person did know. But she had to be sure it wasn't just coincidence.
"Did you ever tell anyone?"
"Alaina, what are you getting at?" he finally demanded as he sat upright on the bed. "I don't like discussing that part of my past, darlin'. Especially not now---not after all we've been through."
"Please, forgive me," she said as she laid a hand on his arm. "But this may be very important. Something about the entire story bothers me and I don't think you'll ever be truly free to love me until you know what happened. Did you ever tell anyone about Brigit's fear?"
He sighed and gazed at some spot over her head for what seemed the longest time. When he looked at her again, she could see the caution returned. "Nay, I told no one."
A chill washed over her from head to foot and Alaina sat up with the blanket clutched tight to her bosom.
"Oh, God." She looked at him and saw the wariness in his eyes.
"What is it?'
"I-I'm not sure. But what would you say if I told you I think I know how Brigit died? Or rather, who might be responsible?"
Her words hung in the air---dark, foreboding like the whisper of the wind before a storm.
"How..." He cleared his throat. "How can you figure out something so quickly when I've spent years trying?"
"Perspective." She looked down at his hands clenched on top the covers. Hands that not long ago had been gentle and seductive upon her skin. "I have no predisposition to anyone here. No one feels they need to hide things from me, especially after so many years."
"Tell me."
"She didn't kill herself, Torin. She couldn't have---not that way. Someone else...someone threw or pushed her off that cliff."
At that moment she wondered---would he believe her? What would be the point? But she knew that their very future depended on him clearing his name---or at least his own conscience. He had to know he had not been at fault for the poor girl's untimely death. Still, could she really express her thoughts aloud? It might make things worse. Perhaps the dead should be left to rest in peace, as the past should be forgiven and forgotten.
"Alaina, don't drop a statement like that in my lap and then stay silent. Who could possibly have hurt Brigit?"
"Sean." The syllable echoed through the small cottage.
He stared at her, dumbfounded, then chuckled with relief. "You're mistaken. Sean Riordan is my oldest friend---he's always been like a brother to me. Why on earth would he want to hurt Brigit? He barely knew her."
"Are you sure? At the cliffs, when you were fighting Doogan, he said, 'Such a horror for her---to fall from this godforsaken cliff as she always feared'."
His only response was a frown.
"He knew, Torin! He knew about her fear. You said yourself no one but those she trusted knew that. Even your mother didn't know until I mentioned it."
He stood quickly and walked to the hearth. "Then she must have told Sean."
"No, I don't think so. But we can ask her if---"
"This is insane!" he bellowed. Alaina's heart lurched for him---for the pain he was hiding from as he tried to deny the evidence, however frail it may be.
"Why would he hurt her?" he asked in a daze as he stared at the dancing flames of the hearth.
Alaina shrugged. "Jealousy, perhaps? Mary Kate said Sean always wanted the girls you liked. She said he never gave them a second glance until you looked their way. Maybe it started like that---a rivalry of sorts. Him wanting the girl you loved. But if she didn't care for him in return, maybe he lost his temper or---"
"He's my best friend," he interrupted. She could see the anger glitter in his eyes. "I can't believe it. I won't believe it."
"Torin---"
"Nay! I've heard enough of your theories." He turned his back on her. "Let the past rest."
"Wait! Don't push me away after..." She waved a hand in the air, unable to say the words as her heart sped to a panicked beat.
"This was a mistake," he said as he turned his back, pulled his clothes from the chair and began to dress. "I rushed you into this marriage and then Doogan..." He seemed to choke on the words but bore on. "It was a mistake---all of it. I put you in danger and now I'll be taking the blame for that. But I will not sit and listen to my best friend made a scapegoat."
"Torin." Her voice broke. "Please, it is possible, isn't it? I mean someone had to have played a part in her death. She could not have jumped on her own. Think about it!"
"Nay, no more!" he bellowed as he headed for the door, anger and confusion seethed around him like a great black storm.
"Please, don't leave me like this, Torin!" she cried in a panic. "We're married! You can't just---" He slammed the door and left her alone in his bed.
Many tears later, Alaina rose from her marriage bed and began to wash. Her body ached in the most extraordinary ways and places. Her mind whirled with everything that had happened; her heart ached at the thought of losing her husband before they'd even begun a life together.
The passion they shared had been beyond anything of her wildest dreams and fantasies. She was not about to give it up over one argument. However, she also knew Torin could not go on with his life until he knew---until the whole world knew what really happened all those years ago upon the Cliffs of Moher. It would hang over them like a dark cloud, a seed of doubt at the back of everyone's thoughts.
Had Brigit jumped? Had someone pushed her? There had to be a way to find out. There had to be a way to lay the past to rest once and for all. Alaina was determined to do just that. With her purpose firmly in mind, and her own garments in ruins, she scoured the cottage for something to wear besides the blanket she had wrapped around herself. Her tattered dress and chemise were the only options unless she was prepared to walk through town wearing her lover's shirt and breeches.
She dressed quickly and pulled Sean's black coat on over her clothes to hide her state of undress and shield her from the morning chill. A plan formed in her head as she set off for Maggie's cottage. Every step brought with it a fissure of doubt over her future, but Alaina refused to give in to the sorrow that tried to overwhelm her.
First she must put herself in order and then she would prove what really happened to Brigit Doogan. She only hoped Torin would find it in his heart to forgive her when all was said and done.
\*
Since the village of Doolin did not boast enough crime to warrant a jail, they had never built one. So when the would-be rapist had been dragged unceremoniously into town, his ankles and wrists bound by rough rope, they had spent only moments debating what to do with him. Cooler heads prevailed over those who wanted the man hung by that same piece of twine, and they had thrown him onto one of Luke Riordan's large fishing boats---the plan to sail the scoundrel North to Galway as soon as the tide would allow.
Learning all this by way of the barkeep, Torin found himself on the swaying pier at the edge of the vessel that morning. His thoughts were a blur of snatches of conversation and memories. Although he felt a cad for hurting Alaina so, he still felt a bristle of anger at her and the intimation that his friend---his closest friend in all the world, no less---could be the cause of these last ten years of torment. Not to mention the complete desolation of his heart and his reputation.
The only thing left after wandering the cliffs for hours was to face Nick Doogan. Once and for all, Torin had to know what happened that night. He had to know if Brigit took her own life because of something he said or did...or if Alaina saw the situation more clearly. Could someone else have been there? Could someone else have pushed the lass to her death and let him take the blame?
With a sigh that held a wealth of frustration, he boarded the boat with a scarce nod to the young lad posted as sentry. "Leave us," he growled as he stared down at Doogan, still tied hand and foot in the bottom of the vessel.
"But---" the lad began to protest.
"Now."
The boy's eyes grew wide and he swallowed noisily but did not protest further as he scampered over the side and ran down the pier. Torin knew his time was short before the other men would come to check on him---though he wasn't sure they'd hurry too quickly, perhaps with the small hope that justice would be dealt the villain who had dared to harm a woman.
"Do you know what happened to your sister?"
Doogan stared at him through swollen eyes, his split lip twisted into a snarl. "All I know is the truth of it. She went to meet you and then she was dead."
"How did she die? Could she...do you think she could have jumped?"
The man grunted in disgust, coughed and spat out a bit of blood on the deck. "Not bloody likely, is it? But we're both knowing that all too well. She couldn't get herself to stand less than fifty feet from that ledge! How's the lass to have jumped from there?"
Torin blinked and looked away for a moment before the thought hit him. "You...you could have coaxed her there. Maybe you killed her."
"She was the only thing good and decent in my life," Doogan insisted. "If I'd wanted her away from you so badly I'd have forced her to go to Scotland meself. I couldn't hurt a hair on her head." His expression darkened with anger. "You killed her you bloody bastard! Why did you have to take her from me?"
"I didn't kill her! I loved Brigit, why would I ever hurt her?"
"There's a liar if ever I heard one. Of course you killed her! We both know she wouldn't jump. The cliffs were her nightmare, her deepest fear. She went to that bloody ruin to meet you...you must have pushed her over."
"Think about it man," Torin prodded. "It makes no sense. If she came there to run off with me, what reason would I have to kill her?"
Doogan shook his head in frustration. "Don't you be trying to talk your way out of it, Irish. 'Tis no way of me knowing what went on that night. All of Doolin has seen your temper on display. Maybe she told you the truth at last, about the babe. Maybe your pride couldn't handle it then, aye? 'Twould give any man reason enough to kill a woman."
"Truth about the babe? What in God's name are you talking about?"
Doogan paused a moment and blinked as he studied Torin's face. "Bloody hell, you don't know...do you?" His tone held a note of wonder, a hint of doubt. "The babe she carried...it wasn't yours. The little bastard was sired before you fell into bed with her."
It felt as if the breath had been knocked from his body. "You're lying."
"Am I now?" He laughed roughly. "I loved my sister, but I knew the truth of her. She wasn't an innocent when you took her to bed or didn't you notice such things?"
Torin turned away, his mind reeling. Brigit had been his first and he'd been so nervous, so lost in the moment that he hadn't paid attention to her state of innocence...or the lack thereof. Could Doogan be telling the truth at last?
"I'll be damned," the man murmured. "You really didn't know. She fooled you both. The little bitch had more of her father in her than I realized."
Torin shook his head, his mind reeled beneath the betrayal he felt anew. She had been with another man. She had known the babe wasn't his. "Who was the father?"
"That I haven't a clue."
"And how can I believe a bloody word you say?"
"If I did know, I'd tell you to be sure. Or I'd kill the bastard meself, wouldn't I? 'Cause if you didn't throw her off that cliff, someone else did. I'm thinking it had to be whoever sired her child."
"Your da---?" Torin began.
"Nay! He was a worthless soul to be sure, but he'd never rape his own daughter. Nay, 'twas a young buck---that I do know. She bragged on how much he loved her and how he was going to sail her away. Swore she'd never set foot on this godforsaken rock again."
Torin snapped to attention. "Sail away?"
"Aye." Doogan's brow furrowed. "Why? Does it mean something then?"
Torin frowned as the truth settled over him like ice. "God in Heaven. Sean."
"Sean? Sean Riordan?"
Torin raced down the pier as Doogan called after him, but he paid no heed. He hadn't believed Alaina, had turned away from her and pushed her out of reach because he hadn't wanted to hear it, hadn't wanted to believe. But she was right and now he feared she stood in danger of suffering Brigit's fate.
Poor, stupid Brigit. Nay, she hadn't Alaina's courage but Torin had forgotten the lass's other side---her sly cunning, her mean streak. Had she been a virgin when they first made love together? Nay, he had never let himself think on it much, but now he was almost sure she hadn't. Despite her declaration of love, she had been sleeping with another man all the time. His best friend.
Strange how death often made saints of the worst sinners.
He ran to Declan, mounted and spurred the animal on to his cottage. As he passed through the village, he almost ran over Shannon outside his pub.
"Lad, where's the devil chasing you?"
"I've got to get home to my bride, if she'll still have me. I've been a fool!"
"Ah, but I just saw her," Shannon said. "Went walking down the path with Sean not an hour ago."
Torin's blood turned to ice. "Sean Riordan?"
"Aye." Shannon frowned. "Is there something wrong? Did the lads lose Doogan?"
"Nay, he's still bound up tight. Liam, where did they go---Sean and Alaina?"
"Not sure." The older man hesitated as he scratched his head. "But I'm thinking up the path toward Doonagore."
It had been an easy thing to tempt Sean Riordan to take a walk with her. Doubt made her feel somewhat like a thief when she had knocked on his cottage door and asked if he would mind accompanying her. Yes, she made it sound as if she was troubled---that her relationship with Torin was in jeopardy somehow.
Indeed, it might be if her hunch proved wrong and she couldn't uncover the truth about Brigit Doogan.
"'Tis a find morning, aye?" Sean ventured.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and found him watching with keen interest. "Yes, it is. Or it might be if everything weren't such a mess."
They continued up the path toward Doonagore, a soft breeze carried the scent of fresh rain and sea salt. Alaina tried to keep from clutching her hands together, but her old fears pricked at her nerves like violin strings.
"Torin and I quarreled."
"Ah." He glanced away. "I thought as much."
A few more steps and she forced a shrug. "Perhaps we married in too much haste. But I cannot live with the specter of Brigit Doogan hovering over our lives."
She heard Sean take a deep breath and wondered at the cause. Could it be their exercise or the mention of the other woman?
"You fought about her?"
"Yes." She let the word hang between them, baiting the man into a response.
"And why would that be?" he asked. "Seems on your wedding night, both you and Torin would have better things to...discuss."
Her cheeks warmed at his intimation, but she paid no heed. He would not derail her train of thought. "He worries about me. He thinks the past will always haunt us and that Brigit will never be put to rest. He thinks our marriage may have been a mistake." She let the tears fill her eyes then---real tears she had held back since making up her mind to search out the truth. The thought of losing her husband now seemed too much to bear.
"Ah, come now, lass," Sean said as they stopped at the base of Doonagore tower. "He'll come around once the shock has worn off. Doogan will be taken care of and you won't have any more worries."
She turned to him then and let him see the sorrow in her eyes. "I'm not sure it's that simple. I'll never be able to live up to her image in his eyes. To him, I'll always be found wanting. She must have been so beautiful...so perfect."
With a derisive snort of laughter, Sean turned from her and paced the tower. He reached out one hand to trace the smoothed surface of the stone. "If he's remembering her as perfect, O'Brien has a large hole in his skull."
"Why?" She took a small step toward him. "Wasn't she? From all I've heard, it's a wonder no one has offered her name up for sainthood."
Another bark of angry laughter and he turned his head. Alaina balked a bit at the anger blazing in his blue eyes. "Brigit Doogan was a bonnie little whore, but nothing close to being a saint. The only miracles surrounding her life were how many men she managed to fool---and make fools of!"
"You hated her."
"Aye, that I did." He fisted his hand against the stone and stared at it a moment. "Hated and loved her, all at once. They say there's but a fine line, don't they?"
"Did Torin know?"
"Ah, there's the rub. He knew nothing of her and me. But I stepped aside anyway, thinking she'd come back. She always had before. But this time...this time she'd found her a prize. Torin had just come home from university and an educated man could take her places a plain fisherman could never go."
At last she had part of the puzzle---Sean and Brigit had been lovers, that much was evident. But how could she make him admit to the rest? She turned and stepped softly around to the side of the tower until his face was in clear view. Anger often made one admit things otherwise held close to the vest. Perhaps, if she made him angry enough, she might trip him up. But what danger would that put her in? Alaina knew it didn't matter. She had to try.
"That was very short-sighted of her, and cruel," Alaina said, playing on his ego. "But then again, if he had fathered her child---"
"Him?" he shouted, his face suddenly dark with anger. "That babe was mine---it had to be! And there he was, not a care in the world but to lay his da's plans to waste." He chucked bitterly. "My heart was near shattered and all bloody Torin cared for was not to be trapped into marrying you. Any lass would have done as well." His gaze softened a bit, but still held a strange light that made Alaina uneasy.
"And here you are, then," he murmured. "So lovely...so real and alive...and he still has no care for what's been laid at his feet." Sean moved closer to reach out one hand and caress her cheek. Alaina fought not to flinch from his touch. "How can the man still grieve a ghost when he has this beautiful flesh in his own arms?"
"I'm sorry you were hurt," she said and swallowed hard. "But maybe she really loved Torin. Maybe he was the better man."
Sean's gaze narrowed and he grasped her about the neck so fast she didn't have a chance to evade his grip. "The only thing better about O'Brien is that he's good at wearing blinders where other are concerned," he said through clenched teeth. "If he'd had a bit of sense in that thick skull he would have tossed the tramp off the cliffs himself! Just like her father, was she---cared for none but herself."
"Is that why you killed her?"
"Aye, and Torin should thank me," he raged. "I saved him from a fate worse than death---saved the babe too, from having a worthless whore for a mum."
Alaina stared at him for a moment as realization dawned in his blue eyes. "Tricky little colleen, aren't you now?" he said. "Why did you have to go and do a thing like that? Now I have to be rid of you, too. 'Tis a shame..." He gazed at her with a mixture of desire and pity. "I really liked you, Alaina. You're a bonnie lass, indeed."
Her heart pounded against her ribs and she fought to keep panic from overtaking her. "You don't mean that, Sean. I don't believe you meant to kill Brigit and you aren't going to hurt me."
He scowled at her and tightened his grip for a moment before releasing her. A look of desolation softened his features, tears swam in his eyes. He took a step back and focused his gaze on the base of the tower.
"Do you see it?" he asked.
Alaina shook her head in confusion and followed his gaze. The weathered stone looked cold and gray, but there weren't any other marks---at the least, none she could see.
"No, I don't," she admitted.
His gaze jerked up to hers and he looked at her as if she was slow or stupid. "The stain---the blood, Brigit's blood! 'Tis plain as day---there!" He pointed to a spot a bit darker than the rest, but it did not look like blood. Alaina had enough experience to tell the difference.
"Sean, there's nothing there."
He frowned and shook his head. "There!" He dropped to his knees and pounded the darker spot with his fist. "Right there! Don't tell me you can't see! 'Tis her blood, I tell you. I washed and washed my shirt, but it never came clean. I had to burn it. But the stone, it carries the mark to this day." Sean looked up at her, a bit of madness lit his eyes.
"It's gone," she told him gently. "The rain must have washed it away years ago."
He slowly shook his head but she laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled softly. "It's gone. I think the guilt has been heavy, hasn't it? Perhaps the time has come to lay all the ghosts to rest."
Sean stared at the tower, his gaze seeming to look right through it. "I-I met her here. I knew they were running off but I had to change her mind. Torin...he was my best friend in all the world, but I hated him. Hated him for taking her from me and not even knowing!
"She was here, waiting. I told her she had to marry me---that it wasn't right what she was doing. She laughed. Right in my face as if I were the world's biggest joke. Then I got angry, I said I'd tell Torin about us. Tell him the babe was mine. She laughed at first, then I think she figured out I was done playing the game her way. She came at me with a rock...we struggled and she...she fell. She didn't move again."
He gazed down at the dark spot on the stone. Then Alaina heard the sound of thunder rumbling across the ground. No, the sound of hoof beats. She looked up to see Torin and Declan approach, a look of pure fury on her husband's face.
"Torin."
At the sound of her voice, Sean blinked and slowly rose to his feet. Torin leapt from the horse, took two long strides and slugged his friend in the jaw.
Alaina gasped as Sean slid down the face of the tower, his lip split and bleeding, his expression dazed.
"Torin, no!" she pleaded and went to help the injured man, but her husband grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
"You murdered Brigit!" he cried.
"Nay," Sean muttered, then spat out a bit of blood. "It was an accident. I never meant---"
"How can I believe you now?" Torin demanded. "After all these years? All the lies? You let them think I murdered her!"
He lunged forward as if to do more damage, but Alaina held him back. "Torin, please!" she begged. "Just listen. Let him tell his side of things."
He looked at her then with a mixture of anger and confusion. "How can you defend the man?"
"I think we need to know what happened. Everyone has been so busy casting blame that no one knows the whole truth." When he seemed inclined to argue further, Alaina framed his face with both hands. "You have to find the truth if it is to set you free. Please...for us?"
He stared at her and sighed. "Very well, let him speak it then." He looked at Sean. "Tell us the truth."
"I didn't mean to kill her. When I threatened to tell you about us, Brigit tried to kill me. We fought...she fell and hit her head on the tower."
"You threw her off the cliff then? Why?"
"Aye, so they wouldn't blame you for her death," Sean said with a bark of ironic laughter. "I didn't realize the sea would give her up again."
"They could have put me in prison for killing her or had me hung," Torin growled through gritted teeth. He clenched his hands at his sides.
"I would have stepped forward then," Sean insisted. "I never would have let you take my punishment."
"But you did," Torin said. "I've lived as an outcast for over ten years---everyone thinking me to be the worst kind of man."
Sean looked away, his expression pained.
"Why didn't you say anything, Sean? Why did you let them...let me go on believing 'twas my fault?"
"And if you were so in love with Brigit, how is it you believed she could jump from the cliffs?" Sean asked, his temper rising. "How is it you never saw what she meant to me, your best friend? You've gone through life blind, boy-o. Open your eyes in full for once before you lose the best thing to ever happen in your miserable life."
Sean pushed himself up from the earth and stumbled away toward the village. When Torin moved as if to stop him, Alaina grasped his arm.
"Don't. Let him go. There's nothing to be done by punishing him now. He's suffered too much as it is---both of you have."
They stood in silence for a long time until Sean's figure disappeared from view down the slope toward Doolin. "What do you think he'll do now?" Alaina asked softly.
Torin shook his head. "I don't know." He took a deep breath and sighed. "I still can't believe..." He looked at her, his mouth lifted in a lop-sided smile. "Will you ever forgive me?"
"For what?"
"For being the worst kind of fool? For not believing you when I should have?"
She returned his smile, her heart lighter with the knowledge that all was well between them. Now, with the truth at last in their grasp, they could forge a life together.
"You've been friends with Sean forever, but we've known each other such a short time." Alaina shrugged. "I can understand your desire to believe in him---your reluctance to see the alternatives. It cannot be an easy thing to accept."
"Nay, 'tis harder still." He glanced one last time at the path to Doolin. "But losing you, my darlin' wife---that would be the cruelest cut of all. Do you forgive me then?"
"Yes, I forgive you," she whispered as she slid her arms about his waist. "On one condition."
"Name it, my love."
"That you take me home this instant..." She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "And make love to me for the rest of the day and into the night."
His eyebrows shot to his hairline and he chuckled deep in his chest. "Now I am the most blessed of men," he said. "I've the most intelligent, beautiful and lustful bride in all of Ireland."
Alaina felt her cheeks burn but could not deny his statement. Intimacy with her husband had proved the most wondrous experience of her life. She hoped to enjoy repeating it again and again, for many years to come.
"Promise me, my love," he whispered as he drew her close for a kiss. "Promise we'll have a long and happy life together---that nothing will ever tear us apart."
"Is that all you're wanting?" she asked playfully, though tears stung behind her eyes. "You've engaged me completely both body and soul, Torin Patrick O'Brien. How could I settle for less than forever in your arms?"
About the Author
As an only child, Meg Allison spent her childhood creating worlds and characters to populate them. It's amazing how sheer boredom can spark the imagination. Writing those stories down became a necessity when her own identity began to vanish in the daily shuffle of life with five children, a husband, and several assorted pets all clamoring for attention.
An avid reader of romantic fiction, Meg spends her time writing contemporary, historical and paranormal romances. That's when she's not home schooling, driving the children to various events or throwing some attention at her husband now and then. Writing is the best therapy for stress...except when there's a deadline.
Also published in contemporary romantic comedy at Moonlit Romance and By Grace Publishing, Meg's first published novella, Romancing Jenny, was nominated for the 2005 Golden Rose.
To learn more about Meg, please visit http://megallison.bravehost.com/. Send an email to Meg at meg\_allison\_author@yahoo.com or read her online journals at http://meg2006.bravejournal.com/ and http://megallisonromance.blogspot.com/
Look for these titles
Now Available:
Secrets and Shadows
by Meg Allison
Secrets and Shadows
© 2006 Meg Allison
Available now in digital and paperback from Samhain Publishing
Jason Sinclair has to keep his employer's daughter safe from evil that lurks in the shadows...but he can't forget the love she once offered.
Sabrina Layne left her wealthy father years ago, vowing to never return. But she's back for his funeral and to evade phone calls haunting her nights. Can she avoid another rejection from her first love?
Jason leads a double life working for the CIA―posing as a chauffeur while uncovering terrorist sympathizers among the elite. Murder in his home town forces him to face the friend he hurt years ago.
Together they might uncover secrets that lurk in the shadows before another life is lost. But Jason isn't sure Sabrina will forgive his lies when she learns the full truth.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Secrets and Shadows:
She stared out the window of the low, black Mercedes as countless trees rushed by in the outer beam of the headlights.
Everything...everything...everything...
The word echoed through her mind like a mantra. What could one person do with so much wealth?
"Sabrina?" Jason's quiet voice stole through the fog in her brain. She turned her head to look at him.
His long, lean hands smoothly turned the steering wheel, guiding the thousand-pound piece of luxurious steel along the winding mountain road. There were no streetlights to guide them, only the soft white beams of the car, the red aura of taillights glowing behind as they curved ever higher up the sloping road.
"You still with me?" His gaze remained intent on their destination.
Sabrina nodded. "Yes, I think so. It's just that I didn't expect this." Her voice trailed off as he swung the car around a sharp bend. She knew if she could see far beyond her window, the view of the downhill side of the mountain might make her sick.
Sabrina had always had an unreasonable fear of falling. In her mind she could see, almost feel, the ground give way as she tumbled into blackness. The knowledge that this was how her father had died―his car plunging down the placid, tree-covered mountain―had given her very vivid nightmares.
"You mean the money?"
"Yes." Sabrina turned her body toward him, the seatbelt biting into her neck. "When I told him that I was getting married, he said I wouldn't get a dime from him. You know my father―he never made a threat he didn't intend to keep. Now here I am, his sole heir, and I haven't a clue why. Why did he do that, Jason? Did he ever say anything to you about me or the will or...?" She reached out, laying her hand on Jason's arm. His muscle jumped beneath her fingertips as if her touch shocked him. Sabrina lost all train of thought.
It happened every time she touched him...electric, sizzling heat and awareness. Ten years hadn't dimmed the flame. Did he feel it as well? She dropped her hand, clasping it with the other in her lap as she gazed at his profile in the green-tinted light from the dash.
Jason cleared his throat. "I wasn't privy to his financial decisions and he sure didn't confide in me where his estate was concerned. After all, I am just the chauffeur."
Sabrina frowned. "Why are you still working for my dad? And what was that business earlier about a deer scaling a ten-foot wall and that it wasn't safe for me to drive alone? You want to tell me what's going on?"
He glanced at her. The tightening of his jaw spoke volumes. Jason was trying to figure out how much to tell her.
"What are you hiding?" she asked. Then, like a light clicking on, it all came together―Vivian's comments, Jason's reticence. "It wasn't an accident."
She thought Jason's shoulders tensed beneath the dark fabric of his suit.
"No." The word was spoken so softly that for a moment Sabrina thought she'd imagined it.
"What happened?"
"He hadn't been drinking, even though they did find an empty scotch bottle in his car, and I know the difference between brake-lines that have been cut versus the damage that can be done in a wreck. There was also some internal damage in the steering column that seemed very unusual."
"How do you know all that?"
"You remember Bill Wright? He's been the Chief of Police here for a little over six years. We've been friends forever and I talked him into letting me look at the car. What was left of it."
She stared at him a moment as his last words sunk in. Her stomach rolled at the image that came to mind―twisted, smoldering metal. "What does the chief think about all of this?"
Jason sighed. "He's investigating, but thinks I'm overreacting. Besides, he's got the town council breathing down his neck, stressing how much the upcoming Spring Carnival needs good public relations. They don't want it getting out that we might have a murder on our hands."
"Why is the carnival so much more important than my father's life?"
"It's not that...it's because this is a major source of income for Castle's Grove," he told her. Sabrina clutched the door handle as they gunned through a rather sharp curve. "Besides, on the surface it does look like an accident. They'd much rather accept the facts at face value―a rich man drank too much and took his 'Vette for a spin off the mountain."
She swallowed hard, trying to keep her mind on their conversation and away from thoughts of cars falling off the mountainside.
"My father had a lot of enemies. His personality alone would account for that. But I have a hard time believing some well-heeled antiques collector got mad enough to have him murdered. Are you sure about all this?"
Sabrina watched him, waiting for an answer. Then she realized he hadn't been listening. Jason's gaze darted back and forth between the area illuminated by the headlights to the rearview mirror. He frowned, his jaw tense.
"Jason?"
"Quiet!" He glanced in the mirror again as they rounded a bend, then turned his head to the side mirror at his left.
"What's wrong?" Sabrina asked as she looked over her shoulder. They came upon a straight stretch of road. She noticed a car about two hundred yards behind them and closing in fast. Sabrina glanced at the narrow road ahead. There was little leeway for passing. Another idiot tourist trying to get someone killed? Or something worse? Her heart pounded as her mouth went dry.
"Maybe you should pull over and let them by."
Jason shook his head. "I don't think passing is what they have in mind."
All the while he spoke, Jason's gaze switched between the road and the rearview mirror. Sabrina turned to watch, a cold lump of fear settling in her stomach. The other vehicle was three car lengths away. Jason pressed down on the gas, giving the powerful engine its head as he smoothly maneuvered down the two-lane road, straddling the centerline around the curves.
"Jason...?" His name left her on a whisper of fear, her fingers digging into the seat and door handle.
"Hold on," he murmured.
She heard a loud popping sound and the Mercedes' rear window splintered. The other car's headlights illuminated the glass and Sabrina blinked at it in shock. The design created looked like a bluish, crystalline spider web. "What was―?"
"Get down!" He took a hand off the wheel and pushed her head down into the seat. Sabrina lay there for a moment as icy terror wrapped around her like a serpent. She could feel the pressure of his hip against the top of her head. The rich aroma of leather mingled with the scent of Jason's spicy cologne.
Someone was shooting at them. It couldn't be real. That kind of thing happened on TV or the movies, not in the Poconos. People skied the mountain slopes. They honeymooned and bathed in heart-shaped tubs. They came to drink and listen to comedians. They did not shoot at the residents.
Another shot, and more glass shattered. She felt Jason's body jerk, heard a series of sharp cracks and then Jason's deep voice cursing above her.
"Are you hurt?" She tried to raise her head but another shot zinged by, fracturing the windshield. She heard a scream, realizing a moment later that it was she who'd made the sound.
"I'm fine―stay down," he said in clipped tones. "I've got an idea." Her body slid into him as the Mercedes glided around another curve. The squeal of tires―theirs or the other car's, she wasn't sure―made her stomach lurch. "When I count to three, hold on to something and don't let go. You got that?"
Sabrina nodded, then realizing he couldn't see her added, "Yes."
For what seemed an eternity, she listened to the powerful roar of the engine and the squawl of rubber on asphalt. Sabrina felt the road curve under her as the car moved, then they seemed to be on a straightaway. Her body tensed. Her fingers dug into the creamy leather.
"Here we go," Jason said. "One...two..."
Sabrina filled her lungs, wondering if it would be the last breath she ever took.
Don't fall off the mountain...don't fall off the mountain...
"Three!"
Torn between two powerful lords, pulled toward one infallible destiny...
The Songbird of Rushen Abbey
© 2006 Gloria Wiederhold
Coming soon in digital and paperback from Samhain Publishing
On the hauntingly beautiful Isle of Mann, legends say that King Alban will cross paths with a maiden gifted in song who will one day be his queen. Alban finds that maiden in Estelle Percy, a young woman known as the "Songbird of Rushen Abbey" and reputedly the descendant of royalty. However, Alban isn't alone in his quest to claim the Songbird. Lord William Percy has set his sights on Estelle, too.
As these two powerful men vie for Estelle's heart, their lives become intertwined in a web of love, desire and deceit in this sweeping, romantic adventure.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Songbird of Rushen Abbey:
It was market day and King Alban was nowhere to be found at Peel Castle. He had notified only one of his whereabouts―Sir Roan, his most trusted knight and confidant―and thus avoid a desperate search party from venturing out to locate their missing king. Following the dishonor endured in the annulment of his marriage and the recent death of his beloved queen mother, Alban entrenched himself in his chambers occupied by matters of state but occasionally he found time.
Time to steal away and ride quietly in the surrounding wilderness. Time to ponder how often he regretted his position and the myriad duties associated with the title, King of Ellan Vannin. To ease his soul, he enjoyed walking amongst the peasant folk of the small fishing village of Peel, wearing an old, tattered travel cloak to avoid being recognized. It was a colorful, bustling place with vendors bartering their wares in harmony with the cries of the black-tipped winged seagulls that soared aloft and the crash of the surf against the stony shore.
How contentedly the folk of Peel Village went about living their simple lives under simple terms. He watched in wonder as they busily prepared the stalls at market, most of them organized in neatly spaced rows. Local farmers offered an array of spring crops, consisting primarily of legumes and a variety of herbs. Fishmongers offered their catch of the day―pike, herring, eel, crab―in addition to an assortment of fish preserved in salt or pickling. Alban pitied a scrawny youth caught pilfering from one fishmonger. The unfortunate lad was tied to a stake with a neckband of rotting fish, forced to endure the wrathful ravings of the fishmonger's wife and the reek of putrid fish as punishment, fortunate not have had his ears cropped.
There were bright, newly spun woolens and fine linen cloths displayed by the mercer. One of Alban's favorite stalls was the baker who offered a luscious array of crusty breads, pies and biscuits prepared by his family, all apple-cheeked redheads. Those that could not afford to set up a stall simply sold from baskets lined at their feet, or set out blankets displaying their wares. One young lass held up newly whelped pups for sale whilst her brother kept a basketful of kittens from scampering away.
That morning he accounted himself especially fortunate to find a group of traveling peddlers from the Far East bartering exotic silks of vibrant colors, intoxicating perfumes and rare spices. Never had he tasted elixirs so spicy sweet or appetizers so savory. He enjoyed the market place not only for the vendors but also for the lively entertainment it provided. There were troupes of acrobats, minstrels, mimes, sword-swallowers and fire-eaters. An immense brown bear wearing a frilly collar was receiving most of the attention that morning as it balanced a ball upon the tip of its wet nose.
The crier, dressed in colorful garb, paraded amid the bustle of villagers ringing the hand bell as he announced the hour and latest local events of significance in a resonating, clear voice. As Alban listened to his declarations, a gnarled hand grasped him suddenly by the sleeve. Startled, he turned to find an old woman standing before him, her face weathered and heavily lined, her eyes horrible and glazed. One heavy eyelid remained half shut whilst the other glared errantly from beneath the tattered kerchief she wore upon a disheveled mass of white hair.
Old Fatima, the village witch. He had seen her before, begging and scraping together a wretched existence more from the pity of strangers than any success she might have found in her soothsaying. "Nay woman, I do not wish to have my fortune read," he refused for the hundredth time ere she had uttered a word. He recalled how many times in his youth the old crone had pestered him to allow a reading, always with the greatest urgency. Queen Rosalind would pull her son away from the gypsy, quoting scripture from Exodus with disgust:
"Thou shall not suffer a witch to live."
Old Fatima, hunched over and limping, persisted in following Alban throughout the streets of Peel, ignoring his commands to leave him be. Soon he became so flustered with the old woman that he nudged her out of the way with his walking staff. Finally, he confronted her.
"Will you not leave me in peace, woman?" He released a heavy sigh of frustration. He reached in his pocket to produce several coins, which he offered up, hoping to rid of her via payment. Fatima merely shook her head at his ire and the coins.
"King of Vannin..." she began, recognizing him beyond the humble disguise. "Thou art doomed nevermore to know a peaceful slumber after the passing of this Yuletide season." The sullen look upon her leathery, lined face and the fearful tone of her voice filled him with trepidation.
"What do you mean?"
"Thou shall suffer for the misdeeds committed by your father against a soul who wanders the earth until truth and justice be rightly served. The past shall be relived, so amends can be made. Once thou sees her face and hears her voice divine, nevermore shall you know peace until death in its mercy close thine eyes. So be it, King of Vannin. Thou can not escape this fate."
Alban laughed, stepping away from the foul woman. "You speak in riddles. I can make no sense of your supposed prophesies."
Fatima broke into an eerie grin revealing the few rotted teeth that remained in her mouth. Alban felt a wave of disgust and sickness rise up in him so that he gagged and turned away. The sweet sounds of the village suddenly became a cacophony of discord, above it all was Fatima laughing lightly.
"Beware, Alban, King of Vannin..." Her voice echoed repeatedly in his mind as he made haste away. "You can not escape this fate."
Suddenly left as the head of the family, Kitty McKenzie must find her inner strength to keep her family together against the odds.
Kitty McKenzie
© 2006 Anne Whitfield
Available now in digital and paperback from Samhain Publishing
Evicted from their resplendent home in the fashionable part of York after her parents' deaths, Kitty must fight the legacy of bankruptcy and homelessness to secure a home for her and her siblings.
Through sheer willpower and determination she grabs opportunities with both hands from working on a clothes and rag stall in the market to creating a teashop for the wealthy. Her road to happiness is fraught with obstacles of hardship and despair, but she refuses to let her dream of a better life for her family die. She soon learns that love and loyalty brings its own reward.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Kitty McKenzie:
Kitty walked over to the cooking range and picked up a few of the pots dangling on hooks above it. They'd be useful. On a shelf to the right of the range stood a few items of food. A jar of currants and a small bottle of pickles, plus a marble slab that held a chunk of dreadfully smelling cheese and some shriveled up salty beef. Indeed, it made her sad to see that a woman of Martha's age had very little to show for all those years.
She heard Connie banging about in the other room and went to investigate. In the bedroom, Connie had flipped the bed over on its side and banged on the floorboards underneath.
"What are you doing?"
Connie sat back on her haunches. "She's bound t'ave some money stashed away somewhere."
"Oh, good heavens. I feel like a grave robber. Put that bed down this minute! We are going. I've had enough." She spun on her heel.
Connie followed her out. "I'm tellin' you it's worth lookin' about a bit."
"No."
"Lass, you going t'need every bit of it."
Kitty spun to face Connie. "Why are you so sure she has some money hidden away? She was a woman who sold secondhand clothes on a stall all her life! What makes you think she has hordes of money somewhere?"
"Cos it mekks sense, that's why! Iris Nettlesmith has had a stall beside Martha for forty years. She knows Martha has done some good trade over the years, but it never showed that she spent much of it. She never had no family ter spend it on. So, the money must have gone somewhere."
"I doubt it."
Connie put her hand to her head and sighed. "Who knows, mebbe Kingsley's grandfather gave her money? It won't do any harm ter look now, will it?"
"Five more minutes and then we go home and forget all about it." Kitty took off her coat. She went to the other room and began to press on the floorboards. Connie pulled at the bed and then looked for secret compartments in the chest of drawers and the cabinet. After an hour of pushing and prodding, turning and picking up anything not nailed down, they gave up.
"I told you so," said Kitty through the dust they'd stirred up in the room.
Connie banged her fist on the table. "It's here somewhere, I can feel it."
Kitty chuckled. "Come on, it is almost dark."
She reached for her coat and gloves resting on the back of the sofa. One of the gloves fell to the floor and, bending to pick it up, something caught her eye. The sofa material was a dark olive green, but the fabric on the back looked newer than the rest. The stitching around the entire back part of the sofa was in a different shade.
Intrigued, she knelt and pulled at a loose thread. Swiftly the thread unraveled, the material fell away from the sofa. Kitty glanced up at Connie, who watched fascinated. Lifting the material flap revealed the wooden structure, and, at the bottom, a box nailed onto a small shelf on the base.
"Oh my." Kitty held her breath as she reached in and raised the box's lid. Gently, she lifted out a little velvet bag. Within it came the soft clink of coins rubbing together. Handing the bag to Connie, Kitty stretched in again and kept doing so until the box was empty.
They stood at the table and stared in wonderment at thirty-two bags.
"I...I never expected to find anything," Kitty whispered.
"The jammy old sod." Connie grunted. "She lived like a pauper an' yet had all this."
"Oh, Connie, I cannot take this money. It's not right." The pile of bags made her queasy. She looked nervously over her shoulder at the door, expecting the police to come barging through any minute and arrest her for trespassing.
Connie gave her a sharp jab with her finger. "Listen, lass, I know you don't feel right about it. But when you think about it, who else is goin' ter have it? She's got no kin."
Speechless, Kitty shook her head.
Connie picked up the first bag, opened it and tipped out the coins onto the table. In a short time, the coins were stacked into small towers. Each bag contained ten gold sovereigns totaling three hundred and twenty.
"Oh, lass," Connie whispered wide-eyed.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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