As it was, she’d heard nothing until her uncle had appeared at the mother superior’s office to take her to the hospital in Ballycraigh. She’d been dazed and disbelieving as she’d stared blindly out the car window at the spring rain that was bringing vibrant new life to the green, rolling fields they were passing. Life. But it was not life she was going to, but death. Rory was dying in that white, sterile bed in Ballycraigh Hospital.
The tears were running down her face in a steady stream now. “Why, Uncle Donal?” she asked bitterly. “Why would he do it? Why would they let him do it? He’s only eighteen and has everything to live for.”
Her uncle’s hand reached over to enfold her own in a warm, comforting clasp. “I don’t know, lass,” he said huskily, his own gray eyes suspiciously bright. “I didn’t even know he’d gotten politically involved at the university until I heard that they’d barricaded themselves in a classroom and were on a hunger strike. It was all so foolish,” he continued brokenly. “Only the very young would think that in forty-five days they could change conditions that have existed for eight hundred years.”
“But you said that the rest of the students gave up after only three weeks,” Sheena said desperately. “Why didn’t Rory?”
O’Shea shrugged helplessly. “You know how stubborn the lad can be when he sets his mind to something. He wouldn’t give up. And by the time they broke in, it was too late. He’d developed pneumonia and was burning up with fever.”
“But he can’t be dying,” she said sobbing. “Not Rory.” Rory was the most joyously alive person she’d ever known. There was scarcely a moment when his dark eyes were not dancing with mischievous laughter or his lips curving in a smile from the sheer joy of living. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”
Uncle Donal’s voice was grave. “I tried to keep you out of it, lass. The reporters are making a circus of the whole tragic mess. Believe me, if Rory had a chance, I’d never have brought you into it, even now. But it’s only fitting that you should say goodbye to your brother.”
“You had no right to keep it from me,” she charged fiercely. “I could have talked to him. He would have listened to me.”
O’Shea shook his head sadly. “Do you think that I didn’t try to persuade him to give it up? He just wouldn’t listen. He’s changed from the Rory you knew. You’ve only seen him on holidays for the last year.”
“He hasn’t changed,” she denied fiercely. “You know how close we are. He’d have listened to me!”
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said wearily. “I did what I thought was best.”
She cast a glance at his miserable face and felt a twinge of shame. Of course he had done what he thought was best. He had never done anything else since he’d taken her and Rory into his home six years before. “I know you did,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I know.”
When they drew up before the hospital, Sheena was given evidence of the media circus that her uncle had mentioned. The two of them were instantaneously pounced on at the curbside by reporters and cameramen. She flinched involuntarily as a barrage of flashbulbs went off in her face as her uncle quickly ushered her into the sanctuary of the hospital.
Rory didn’t die until early the following morning, and she sat with him all through that long, agonizing night watching him struggle for breath behind the icily impersonal oxygen tent.
He only roused enough to speak to her once, and then she had to lean close to make out the words.
“Sheena.”
Her hand tightened on his skeletally thin one. “Yes, love, I’m here.”
His dark eyes so like her own were searching. “Proud of me?” he croaked, just a hint of his old boyish smile on his emaciated face.
She could feel the tears flood her eyes. She wanted to cry and beat her fists on his chest in frustration, to shout and rage at him that there was no cause that was worth his life. But she knew she couldn’t deprive him of the only gift that might give his sacrifice meaning.
“Yes, I’m very proud of you, love,” she said huskily, her throat aching with tears.
He sighed contentedly. “Glad. Uncle Donal’s proud of me, too.” His lids closed, and for a moment she thought he’d fainted. Then his eyes flicked open, and there was a trace of panic in their depths. “I don’t want to die, Sheena,” he whispered desperately, bruising her hand in a sudden surge of strength. “Why?”
She was never to know what he meant by that last desperate cry, for Rory had lapsed once again into unconsciousness and died a little over an hour later.
It was two days before Sheena realized that she, too, hadn’t died but had entered a torturous inferno of feverish pain and nightmarish dreams.
During that time, she was sent rocketing into an almost hysterical dependence on the only solid figure in a constantly shifting universe. The man with the tawny sun-streaked hair and gentle golden eyes was always there when she threw off the heavy covers or cried out for water. When she woke in the night screaming as she relived over and over that nightmare in the hospital in Ballycraigh, it was the golden man who enfolded her in strong, comforting arms and wiped her streaming eyes, his expression frighteningly grim despite the tenderness of his touch.
And when her body was racked with chills and no amount of blankets could alleviate the icy cold that seemed to pervade her bones, it was the golden man who lay holding her in his arms, his warm body giving her its blessed heat, while his hands caressed and soothed her aching muscles and his voice crooned an affectionate litany in her ear.
Even when she became well enough to realize that the golden man was Rand Challon, she still could not rid herself of that curious dependence that seemed as much emotional as physical. She was still enfolded in an exhausted lassitude that caused her to feel not the slightest embarrassment or discomfort as he performed the most intimate of services for her.
Nor did he seem to view his duties with anything but the most matter-of-fact naturalness. Ignoring the silence that she was too weary to break, he bathed her, brushed her hair, and fed her as if she were a much-loved child. While he was going about these functions, he kept up a cheerful, inconsequential chatter that demanded no answer from her. In its own way, this was as comforting as the way he lounged lazily in an easy chair by her bed when she slept so that his warm, quiet smile was the first thing she saw when she awoke.
It was almost a week after she’d arrived at the cabin before her weariness dissipated enough for her to ask the questions that had seemed oddly unimportant in the past several days. She had wakened from an afternoon nap to see Challon in his usual brown leather easy chair beside the bed. His golden eyes were fixed absently into space, and there was a frown creasing his forehead. For the first time Sheena noticed the lines of weariness about his mouth and the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He was dressed in beige cord pants and brown suede shirt, and Sheena’s lips twitched unexpectedly. Lion colors for a golden man.
As if feeling her appraisal, his gaze swooped down and met hers. Immediately his frown vanished, and his bronzed face lit with an affectionate smile. “Back with us again?” he asked cheerfully, obviously not expecting an answer. “These naps are getting shorter all the time. Pretty soon you’ll be able to do without them entirely.” He stood up and stretched lazily, and Sheena was suddenly breathlessly aware of his lean, virile strength. “I’ll just run downstairs and see what Laura’s prepared for your supper.”
He turned away only to whirl back to face her as she asked slowly, “Who’s Laura?”
The smile that illuminated his face this time was as brilliant as the sun coming up. “Thank God,” he said fervently, his body relaxing from the tension that he had kept carefully hidden from her. He sank back into the easy chair beside her bed and took her hand in both of his. “The doctor said that it would only be a matter of time,” he continued. “But you were scaring the hell out of me, sweetheart.”
“Who is Laura?” Sheena asked again, frowning. For some reason the idea of another woman intruding on this
strange intimacy that existed between them filled her with distinct displeasure.
“You’ll meet her presently,” Challon replied, with most unsatisfactory vagueness. His keen eyes were swiftly raking her face, noting the alertness of her expression and the snapping darkness of her eyes, which had previously held only languid acceptance and disinterest. “How do you feel?”
Sheena considered the question solemnly. “Hungry,” she said decisively.
The reply was met with a jubilant laugh from Challon. “Great!” Rising to his feet again, he headed for the door. “Laura was getting fed up fixing you that sickroom pap.”
Laura again. Sheena bit her lower lip vexedly. Evidently Laura’s opinion loomed large in Challon’s scheme of things. She refused to ask herself why this disturbed her so, and firmly turned her attention to examining her surroundings. She must have been vaguely aware of the decor of the room during the past days, but it had never actually sunk beyond that exhausted lethargy.
The room was surprisingly spacious for a guest room and had a cozy cheerfulness due to the blazing, crackling fire in the fireplace across the room. Though only late afternoon, the room had a twilight dimness due to the drawn red plaid drapes that covered the windows that spanned one whole wall. The spread on the bed was also a red tartan plaid, as was the throw that was tossed carelessly on the beige chaise longue before the fireplace. The carpet was a plush creamy beige and contrasted beautifully with the polished cherrywood of the contemporary furnishings. There was a painting above the fireplace by Keane, and she studied the picture curiously. It was a portrait of a small child who possessed the enormous dark, sad eyes that were the artist’s trademark. It was oddly out of place in a room that projected such vibrant cheerfulness, Sheena thought.
“Think you can work your way through a small steak?” Challon asked briskly, as he entered the room carrying a tray. “It’s best not to overload your stomach at first.”
Sheena nodded eagerly and levered herself hurriedly to a sitting position, only to clutch the sheet up to her chin with a shocked cry. She was totally nude!
“Oops, I forgot about that,” Challon said, grinning mischievously as he put the tray on the bedside table. He strode quickly across the room, opened the top drawer in the cherrywood bureau, and drew out a filmy gown in a brilliant shade of sunshine yellow. Grabbing a matching bed jacket, he returned to the bed. He slipped the gown over her head and then lifted her to smooth the gown down around her with impersonal efficiency. He put her arms in the bed jacket before giving her a kiss on her surprised lips and turning away to retrieve the tray and place it on her lap. “I’m going to miss seeing you naked as Eve,” he said, winking outrageously as the color flooded her cheeks.
“Was that really necessary?” she asked faintly, her eyes avoiding his as she carefully buttered a crusty warm roll.
He dropped back down in the brown leather easy chair and stretched his legs before him lazily. “Well, I told myself it was,” he drawled, then grinned shamelessly. “It made things much easier nursing you. Besides, looking at you was the only enjoyable aspect of the entire hellish week. I figured that I deserved it.”
Somehow this did not even raise a spark of indignation in Sheena. The intimacy that had evolved between them since her illness had inexplicably quenched her former antagonism. How could she object to him seeing her naked when she could vaguely remember crying out to be held in his arms through the long, frightening hours of the darkness? He had given to her with complete selflessness and dedication and had forged bonds that she would now find almost impossible to break.
“What happened to me?” she asked quietly, as she took a bite of the slightly rare steak. “I gather I’ve been quite ill?”
He nodded his head. “You fell into the lake,” he said, his face turning grim at the memory. “I got you out before you drowned, but you were still suffering from hypothermia. That lake is glacier cold this time of year. I carried you back to the cabin and put you to bed and then radioed for the doctor.” He raised a sandy eyebrow inquiringly. “Do you remember Dr. Knowleton?”
She shook her head, and he said, “I didn’t think you would. You were pretty much out of your head by the time he arrived. You were alternating between chills and fever, and I was almost out of my mind.” He leaned forward suddenly and closed his hand over her blanket-covered thigh. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, do you hear?” he said hoarsely, his expression fierce. “I thought you were going to die before Knowleton got here,”
Then as he met her wide, startled eyes, his hand loosened, and he sat back in the chair and relaxed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Go on with your dinner,” he said, wearily running his hand through his tawny hair. “Knowleton said that you were not only suffering from shock but prolonged exhaustion and anemia.” He scowled darkly, “Plus a slight case of malnutrition. Your loving uncle certainly took great care of you!” Then as she would have protested, he made an impatient wave with his hand. “Well, that’s water under the bridge. He won’t get another chance with you now. Even after you got over the shock, I couldn’t rouse you from that damned lethargy. The doctor said it was just exhaustion and that you’d snap out of it yourself in time.” He shook his head ruefully. “He didn’t mention that I’d almost go nuts before you got around to it.”
“You took very good care of me,” she said gravely. “I was aware of that, at least.” She hadn’t noticed before that his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled, she thought.
“I guess it goes with the territory. But you can bet I’ll be a damn sight more careful the next time I kidnap a lovely lady. It can obviously be a very tricky proposition.”
Her lips curved in a little smile, and her dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re planning on making a practice of it, then?”
Challon’s expression took on an intentness that caused sudden warmth to flood her veins with a sweet langour. “No,” he said thickly. “Once is enough, little dove.”
He reached over and picked up the napkin on the tray and dabbed her lips gently. “Butter,” he said huskily. “I was tempted to remove it in a considerably more erotic manner, but I have to keep reminding myself that you’re still an invalid.”
She shook her head resignedly, and a low chuckle of amusement broke from her. “You’re utterly daft,” she said, as she finished the last bite of steak and pushed the plate away.
There was a warm gentleness in her expression that brought a searching thoughtfulness to Challon’s face. “You’re not angry with me any more, are you?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not angry.” She took a sip of tea. “It’s very difficult holding on to a grudge against someone who’s not only saved my life but has taken care of me in the way you have.”
He frowned. “I don’t want your gratitude. I only want you to promise not to do anything foolish like trying to run away from me again.”
She shook her head slowly, her dark eyes grave. “I can’t give you that promise. I have obligations to fulfill. My Uncle Donal and Sean will be very worried if I don’t return soon.” Holding the teacup, she leaned back against the pillows. “At first, I thought that your actions were those of a bored playboy looking for a new game to play, but I’ve changed my mind.” She looked up to meet his eyes earnestly. “For some reason, you sincerely believe that I need rescuing. But can’t you see how wrong you are? My uncle has never been anything but kindness itself to me, and I’ve never been forced to do anything that I didn’t want to do. There are just some duties that must be performed even though there is a little pain involved.”
“A little pain!” He snorted, his lips twisting bitterly. “Don’t try to make light of it, damn it. Remember, I was the one who was holding you when those nightmares were ripping you apart. If I’d had your loving Uncle Donal here then, I’d have strangled him with my bare hands.”
Then his expression lost its grimness as he saw her troubled face. He bent forward swiftly and kissed her li
ghtly on the tip of her nose. “We won’t argue about it now. I’d be foolish to push my luck when I’ve made so many gains already. You have my permission to make all the escape attempts you like as long as you don’t put yourself in danger again. In return for my gracious leniency, would it be too much to ask that you just put aside your very solemn ‘duties’ and let me teach you how to play, little dove?” He smiled coaxingly, his golden eyes twinkling. “You might just as well give in to the big, bad kidnapper until you can wrest yourself from my clutches. No one can blame you for submitting to the inevitable.”
“It depends on what you consider ‘play,’ ” Sheena said cautiously, her spirits rising to meet the reckless challenge in Challon’s face. It was true that she couldn’t help her situation at the moment. Would it be so wrong to let Challon demonstrate what he’d meant when he said he would transform her into a lark?
He arched a brow. “If you expect a promise that I won’t try to seduce you, you’re not going to get it,” he said frankly. “I fully intend to get you into my bed at the earliest opportunity. That’s going to be number one on my list of priorities.” One tender finger reached out to trace the passionate curve of her lips. “I guarantee that you’re going to enjoy those particular lessons most of all. The only promise you’ll get from me on that score is that you’ll want it just as much as I do.”
“You’re very confident.”
“You’re damn right I am. You’ve already seen the kind of chemistry we have working for us. I believe that I’m experienced enough to know how to pleasure you, love.” His lion eyes twinkled teasingly. “I wasn’t brought up in a convent or had a dragon uncle protecting my virtue!”
That fact was more than evident, Sheena thought crossly. He’d probably had women standing in line to receive that mocking grin since he was in kindergarten. Well, he wouldn’t find her so easy to manipulate, she thought. Challon was a charming and companionable man, and there was no real reason why she should not enjoy a brief holiday until she could convince him to release her. She obviously needed a rest, as was evidenced by the physical breakdown she had suffered. Challon was so sure of his powers of persuasion that she had no fear that he would use any form of coercion to force her to a sexual commitment. She had every confidence that she would be as safe as she wanted to be.
The Reluctant Lark Page 5
