The Reluctant Lark

by Iris Johansen

  “Don’t listen to him,” Rand said desperately, his face taut and haggard. “For God’s sake, believe me. Trust me.”

  “Come with me to Houston, Sheena,” O’Shea said. “We’ll talk and get everything straightened out in your mind.”

  God, how she needed that, Sheena thought desperately. She felt as if she were being torn apart. She not only couldn’t think, but she was beginning to be overcome by an odd lassitude that was paralyzing her emotions.

  “Yes,” she said vaguely. “Yes, I’ll come.”

  “Sheena!” Rand’s exclamation was both a rejection and a cry of pain.

  She turned to him, her dark eyes almost blank with shock and agony. “I have to go, Rand,” she explained numbly. “Please understand, I have to talk to my uncle.” She turned away like a sleepwalker and walked toward the Datsun.

  Sean Reilly was there ahead of her, swiftly opening the rear passenger door. She was about to step into the car when Rand appeared at her elbow. His expression was full of torment as he looked down into her pale, pain-racked face.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, love,” Rand said raggedly, as he touched her cheek gently with one finger. “I know what hell this has put you through. Believe me, if there had been any other way, I would have taken it.”

  Sheena nodded, not looking at him. “I understand,” she said, and somewhere down beneath the ice that covered her emotions she did understand. She got silently into the car, her eyes fixed straight ahead. If she didn’t look at him, if she didn’t speak, perhaps she’d be able to remain in this gray limbo.

  She heard Rand curse, and then he leaned forward into the car to kiss her gently on the cheek. “I’m letting you go, Sheena,” he said huskily. “I’ll give you the time you need to get over the first shock, and then I’m coming after you.”

  “That wouldn’t be wise, Mr. Challon.” There was a touch of steel in Sean Reilly’s usually silky voice. “We won’t be caught off guard a second time. I’d advise you to keep your distance.”

  O’Shea entered the car by the other passenger door and settled himself comfortably by Sheena, taking one of her cold, lifeless hands in both of his. “Sean is right, Challon,” he said softly. “You won’t be welcome around my niece in the future. It might even prove dangerous.”

  Rand straightened slowly, his face hardening to brutal ruthlessness. “I doubt that. Did I forget to mention that all of those investigative reports have been well documented and are locked up nice and tidy in a safe deposit box? You’d better hope that I stay healthy for a long, long time.”

  Sheena heard Reilly give a muttered curse as he slammed the door shut and then strode around the hood of the car to the driver’s seat. It was only a moment later that the car lurched swiftly into motion, tearing away from the house and leaving Challon to gaze after them, his face a mask of grim implacability.

  O’Shea leaned forward to speak to Reilly as they reached the rutted dirt access road. “Circle around as if we were heading for the highway,” he said tersely. “Challon gave in a little too easily. It won’t hurt to lay a false trail in case he decides to try to take her back.”

  “Right.” Reilly nodded briskly, then proceeded to follow O’Shea’s instructions.

  O’Shea leaned back in his seat, his hand clasping Sheena’s in a warm, comforting grip. His cool gray eyes were searching as they fixed on Sheena’s blank, remote face. “You’ve made the right decision, lass. You know in your heart where you belong. Challon couldn’t understand you as I do. We’ve been together a long time, haven’t we, Sheena?”

  Sheena nodded mechanically. “Yes, a long time.”

  So many years. She had a fleeting memory of the day that her uncle had taken Rory and her to the fair on the outskirts of Ballycraigh. Rory had been only fifteen then, she thought dazedly. She remembered how his face had lit up with pride when he had rung the bell with one powerful stroke of the massive hammer at the Test Your Strength booth. Uncle Donal had laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, fond pride on his face as well. So many years. She felt a melting of the ice around her heart as an aching pain pierced through her.

  “It will be just as it used to be,” O’Shea said complacently. “We’ll forget this incident ever took place.” He chucked her under the chin gently. “It never would have happened if I hadn’t been such a thickheaded Irishman and not noticed how exhausted you were. You would never have let that playboy tycoon get around you if you’d been yourself.”

  She wondered what her uncle would say if he knew just how Rand had gotten around her. He evidently thought that Challon had used that devastating charm to beguile her into going off with him on a romantic interlude. Not that he probably wouldn’t have succeeded if he’d had the time to use that particular weapon, she thought tenderly. It had taken him less than three weeks to make her fall in love with him and to become the center of her universe. A magical flood of memories of their time together flowed over her, melting the remainder of the shock that encased her. What was she doing here? she wondered wildly. Why was she sitting in this car speeding away from the only place she ever wanted to be, at Rand Challon’s side?

  “Ah, you’re feeling better,” O’Shea said gently, his eyes on the color coming back to her cheeks. “That’s good, darlin’. Soon you’ll be your old self. You shouldn’t have let that man upset you so. You know that I would never use you as he said. You’re my own colleen, just as you’ve always been.”

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better,” Sheena said quietly.

  Trust me, Rand had said. But if she trusted him, then she must believe what he had told her. How could she do that when she knew how her uncle had loved Rory? He would have to be a ruthless fanatic to sacrifice a boy he loved like a son on the altar of a political cause. But the members of the NCI were such fanatics, she realized bewilderedly. Oh, God, she didn’t know what to think!

  A frown on his face, O’Shea looked down at the small hand clasped in his. “These American’s don’t understand us, Sheena,” he said, as if talking to himself. “They don’t realize what it is to live in a country torn apart like our own is. How could they realize what we’ve suffered and what we must give up to preserve our heritage?” His bulldog face convulsed into a mask of pain, his icy gray eyes misting. “God, how I loved that lad.”

  Sheena went still, the breath leaving her body. No, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want to hear any more.

  “Rory was everything to me,” O’Shea said hoarsely. “He was the finest lad that ever lived. Strong and brave and true.” His gray eyes blazed with feeling. “Lord I was proud of that boy!”

  Sheena closed her eyes, as a surge of sheer agony went through her. “Uncle Donal is proud of me,” Rory had said. She had misunderstood. She had thought that her uncle had given Rory the same false assurance that she had in order to make his last hours easier, but that hadn’t been it at all. It had all been true. Everything that Rand had said was the God’s truth, and for a moment she didn’t see how she could bear it.

  “But there I go upsetting you again,” O’Shea said, with false heartiness as he looked up to see her face white with misery. “You’re a good girl to put up with an old man’s maundering when you have your own cross to bear.”

  His last phrase inevitably brought to mind what Rand had said about O’Shea sending her on stage to be crucified. It all seemed so clear now. What had made the whole concept so unbelievable was her uncle’s love for Rory. She couldn’t conceive of a fanaticism so extreme that it could take perverse joy in sacrificing the object nearest one’s heart. Yet now she had no doubt that her uncle had done just that. She would probably never know whether O’Shea had actually instigated that hunger strike, but it was almost certain that he had not tried to dissuade Rory when the others had given it up. Sheena gave a shiver of revulsion as she realized how many years of indoctrination and carefully spread poison had resulted in that horrifying night in Ballycraigh.

  “We’ll get you back to New York as soon as possible,” her uncle
said comfortingly. “You can stay in bed and relax all day tomorrow. You only have three numbers scheduled for your part of the benefit the next evening, so you won’t even have to rehearse.”

  Three numbers. “ ‘Rory’s Song’?” Sheena asked, knowing the answer before O’Shea nodded. One of the numbers would have to be “Rory’s Song” if the pieces were to fit into the puzzle. So she was to be the instrument of O’Shea’s fanatical passion just as Rory had been. Suddenly Sheena felt deluged by an icy rage that banished all the pain and confusion and filled her with a strength and confidence she had never known. No, by God, she would never let him use either her or Rory’s death ever again!

  O’Shea had leaned forward and was speaking to Reilly. “You can radio the helicopter now, Sean. Drive directly to Challon’s private landing strip.”

  “Right you are, Donal,” Reilly replied, picking up a receiver from under the dashboard and obeying his superior with the swift alacrity that always distinguished him. A ground-to-air radio, Sheena thought bitterly. She felt as if she were in the middle of a James Bond film.

  “Helicopter?” she asked carefully, casually withdrawing her hand from O’Shea’s. She felt physically ill at his touch.

  O’Shea nodded. “We’ve had a helicopter standing by. We’ll leave the car at the landing strip and board the ’copter there.” His lips twisted in a smile of smug satisfaction. “We’ll be out of here before Challon even knows about the landing. Then we’ll transfer to a commercial jet at Houston Intercontinental.”

  “I see,” Sheena said. “I thought we were just going as far as Houston tonight.”

  O’Shea smiled easily. “There’s no reason for laying over now that you’ve come to your senses. We might just as well fly through to New York.” He patted her cheek gently, a trace of triumph in his face. “You do want to come with us now, don’t you, lass?”

  He was so sure that he had won. He thought he had the strings of his little puppet securely in his own hands again.

  “Yes, Uncle Donal,” she said quietly, her dark gaze sure and steady as it met his. “I want to go to New York with you very much, indeed.”

  Night had fallen when they reached Challon’s landing strip, but the field was brilliantly illuminated by the floodlights, and the scarlet helicopter that was just descending was experiencing no difficulties. The unauthorized landing, however, had brought a stream of mechanics and security personnel hurrying out on the tarmac from the concrete building beside the hangar.

  “We’d better be prepared to do some fast talking,” her uncle murmured to Reilly, as he helped Sheena from the car.

  “It may take a trifle more than that,” Sean answered silkily, a touch of the tiger in his gleaming smile. Why had she never seen past that polite facade? Sheena wondered. There was whip-cord tension and a sleek menace in Reilly’s every move.

  “None of that, Sean,” O’Shea said sharply, glancing at Sheena’s composed face uneasily. “Let me handle it.”

  They walked quickly across the runway, O’Shea and Reilly on either side of Sheena.

  “Good Lord, Sheena, you’re a busy little girl today. Does Rand know about this little adventure?” Nick O’Brien drawled, as he strolled lazily toward her across the field.

  Sheena could feel the men on either side of her tense with the coiled danger of cats about to spring. O’Brien must have sensed the silent menace, for his own stance took on a subtle threat.

  Sheena moved forward hurriedly a few paces to face O’Brien and try to avoid the dangerous confrontation that was festering in that silence. “Rand knows that I’m leaving, Nick,” she said rapidly, her dark eyes frantically signaling a warning. “We’ve just left him.” She forced a laugh. “I didn’t think I’d see you again today. I thought you’d returned to Crescent Creek. What are you doing down here?”

  “There’s always a big poker game over here on Wednesday nights,” he replied, his thoughtful gaze going past her to where O’Shea and Reilly were standing. “Isn’t your departure a bit unexpected?” he asked quietly. “You’re sure Rand knows that you’re leaving?”

  Sheena nodded. “Believe me, Nick, Rand knows that I’ve left for New York,” she said earnestly. This conversation was bound to be repeated immediately to Rand. The reference to New York would eliminate any wild-goose chase to Houston. She heard O’Shea mutter something behind her, and she smiled grimly. He would almost certainly think the information had been dropped in all innocence. O’Shea’s meek, docile puppet would never have the initiative to cause an upset in his plans.

  O’Brien’s searching gaze studied her face a long moment. “I still don’t understand why he’s letting you go, but it’s not my place to try to stop you,” he said slowly. “It’s a bit of a puzzle.”

  She smiled brightly. “And I know how you love puzzles, Nick. I’ve been working on one myself lately, and suddenly all the pieces just fell into place.”

  “Really,” Nick said, his eyes narrowing on her face. “That must have been very satisfying.”

  “Well, I had some help,” she said softly. “Rand’s a great one at solving puzzles, too, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” O’Brien said thoughtfully. “I’m glad he was able to help you with this one.”

  “Sheena, love, it’s time we were leaving,” O’Shea said smoothly, as he joined her. “You’ll have to chat with your friend some other time.”

  “I’m ready, Uncle Donal,” Sheena said quietly, as she turned back to O’Brien. “Goodbye, Nick, I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

  “You’re sure this is what you want, Sheena?” Nick asked soberly. “Sometimes when you walk away, it’s damn hard to come back.”

  “I’m sure,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed meaningfully on his lean, perplexed face. “It’s always hard to break free of a cocoon, but it’s necessary if a person is to reach one’s full potential. I’m out of the cocoon now, Nick, and I definitely want to go to New York and do this concert.”

  “Of course you do,” O’Shea said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “But we must be on our way if we’re to make our connection in Houston.”

  Sheena gave O’Brien a flashing smile. “I’ll be seeing you, Nick,” she said lightly, and turned away. A few minutes later she was being assisted into the scarlet helicopter, and the heavy metal doors slammed shut behind her.

  Ten

  Sheena added a touch of mauve shadow to her lids, which caused her eyes to appear even darker in their frame of black lashes, then gazed at her face objectively in the dressing room mirror. For a minute she considered using a touch of rouge but then decided against it. She had more than enough color in her cheeks that night. In fact, she had never looked more vibrantly alive in all her life.

  There was a soft knock at the door, and at her invitation to enter, Donal O’Shea came in and closed the door behind him. “It’s a very good house tonight, darlin’,” he said easily as he came forward to stand behind her. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Very responsive for a benefit audience. It’s unusual to see people who are paying fifty dollars a ticket so uncritical.” He scowled in disgust. “They even applauded that young rock star who was just on.”

  Sheena smiled and reached for her rose pink lipstick, which she began applying carefully.

  As her uncle observed her, a frown gradually clouded his face. “I’m not sure that gown suits you. Why didn’t you wear one of your usual costumes? This performance isn’t so outlandishly important that you had to run out yesterday and buy a new gown.”

  “I disagree. I think this performance is very important.” She looked down at the black taffeta she was wearing. “I thought sure that you’d approve of my taste, Uncle Donal. It is black, and really quite dramatic-looking, don’t you think?”

  The garment in question looked more like a chic Chinese robe than a gown. Its loose flowing lines completely enveloped her small figure, from the high, stand-up collar to her feet, and the sleeves were long and lavishly full. The only decoratio
ns on the robe were the three large, shiny onyx buttons that fastened it, one at the throat, one at the waist, and the last at her knees.

  “It’s a bit too sophisticated for you, Sheena,” he said, still frowning. “Next time I’ll go along with you and help you choose.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and crossed to the gray velvet wing chair in the corner of the room. “Well, it’s too late now to worry about it. You’re on next.”

  Sheena nodded as she picked up a comb and began to tidy her glossy, dark curls. “I’ll be ready,” she said quietly.

  O’Shea watched her silently for a moment, his gray eyes apparently puzzled by the expression on the thin, fragile face reflected in the mirror. “You’ve changed,” he said abruptly. “You would never have wanted to choose your costumes before that blackguard, Challon, got hold of you.”

  Sheena smiled. “We all have to change as we grow older, Uncle Donal. I thought it was time I accepted some of the responsibility for my career myself. I’ve left the entire burden on you for much too long.”

  “Nonsense,” O’Shea said gruffly. “I enjoy doing things for you. Just leave it to me from now on.”

  She didn’t answer, and after a short silence, O’Shea asked suddenly, “You’re not upset that I’ve scheduled you to do ‘Rory’s Song’ tonight?”

  Sheena shook her head. “Of course not,” she said serenely. “I agree that it’s entirely appropriate for me to sing it tonight. I might even have asked you to put it in if you’d omitted it.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Sheena,” he said slowly. He rose to his feet and came forward to stand behind her once again. One hand reached out to touch her hair caressingly. “It’s good to know you haven’t forgotten how important it is.” He picked up one curl and unwound it, only to release it to spring back into its former coiled tightness. “Rory loved your hair,” he said absently, his eyes on her face. “Remember how he used to laugh when he did that?”