Sinister Intentions & Confiscated Conception

by Heather Graham

  “You’re the prime candidate, you know. According to your theory, that is.”

  Her lips were dry, and she couldn’t talk. She shook her head in confusion.

  “What...what are you talking about?” she managed at last.

  “What am I talking about? When the hell are you going to tell me?” He was shouting, and she could see him trembling with the force of the emotions sweeping through him. “Damn it! Why did you come back then? What are you waiting for?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How can you pretend not to know? I’ve given you every opportunity to tell me truth.”

  “I’ve never lied to you!”

  “But you haven’t told the truth, either!”

  Kit stared at him and felt the heat that flowed between them. She knew...she knew that he knew. She didn’t know how he had discovered the truth, but she couldn’t face him this way. She was afraid. She lowered her eyes quickly. “Get out of here, Justin.”

  She tried to speak imperiously. And then she tried to rise and brush past him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He grasped her hands and pulled her hard against him.

  “Justin—”

  His fingers threaded into her hair, and tears stung her eyes when she was forced to look up at him.

  “Mike, Kit. Mike. When were you going to tell me that he’s my son?”

  She gasped. She hadn’t realized that he’d had any suspicions.

  “You’re wrong!” she lied desperately.

  “No, Kit. No good. I made a few calls the moment I left you in the cemetery that very first day. He was premature, Kit. Very convenient for you, because you wanted him to be Michael’s. You even tried to lie to yourself.”

  “Michael could have—”

  “Stop it, Kit. Stop it.” She realized that tears were streaming down her face only when he gently brushed them away and pulled her tightly against his body, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. And then he was whispering words she barely understood, soothing things, gentle things, caring things. He picked her up and carried her back to the chair, where he sat down and held her on his lap, breathing tender kisses over the top of her head.

  “He is my son, Kit. Mike is my son.”

  She gave a small sob, and her answer was barely audible. “Yes. I—I did want to believe he was Michael’s. I was so young then. Alone. Afraid. I didn’t know what to do. I had to live the lie.”

  “I love you, Kit. I loved you then, and I love you now.” He hesitated. “I know that you loved Michael McHennessy. But he’s gone. You can’t bring him back by living a lie.”

  She didn’t answer him. She was shivering and she didn’t know what anything meant anymore. She was still too stunned that he had guessed, and then she wondered if she had been blind not to have realized that he might.

  But then, at the beginning, she hadn’t even known if he would remember her....

  And maybe, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she had told herself to come here on purpose. Maybe she had thought that Michael had a right to a living parent, rather than a hallowed memory.

  But what did it mean...?

  She leaned back, searching Justin’s eyes. She was looking for something, but she didn’t know what, and she was afraid that she would start crying again.

  “Us...you and I... Justin, was it all because you wanted to know about Mike?”

  He stroked her cheek, smiling tenderly. “No, love, I swear it. ‘Us’ is because it was always meant to be. ‘Us’ is because I couldn’t stay away from you. Because you’re incredibly sexy and beautiful, and because I’ve spent my life dreaming about you since we met. I love you, Kit.”

  She dared to reach out then and touch his face. The words were difficult to form after so many years, but the emotion was there, deep and rich, when at last she said, “I love you.”

  For a moment he was silent as he continued to watch her with the utmost tenderness, but then his smile faded, and his arms tightened around her. “Do you understand now why I want you to leave?”

  She shook her head.

  “Kit, according to your own theory, you’re the one who should die. You’re the one who was taken by the O’Niall. The one to give the land a son.”

  “The one who’s supposed to be sacrificed.”

  Chapter 8

  “Mom! Mom!”

  Mike’s frantic cry penetrated Kit’s worried thoughts as she flipped an egg in the frying pan. She shoved the frying pan away from the heat and rushed out the front door, frowning. Mike was still yelling for her, bent over something on the walk.

  “Mike?”

  She went to join him, crouching to look down herself. When she did, she was so startled that she clapped her hand to her mouth, holding back her own scream.

  Lying on the stone walk was another stone, shaped into a miniature altar. And on the stone was a naked doll. It was almost a foot in length, with long, wild hair. It was on its back, and across its throat was a blood-red line, and some sticky red substance had been splashed all over the stone.

  “Oh, God!” she gasped.

  Mike looked at his mother’s white face, stricken. “I’ll throw it away, Mom. You look so upset.”

  “No!” she screeched. “No, Mike, don’t touch it. Maybe there are fingerprints or something. Don’t touch it.”

  “Fingerprints? We’re going to call the police?”

  “What?” Kit was appalled by the excitement in Mike’s face. She shivered, wanting him to understand how serious this was, and also wanting to shield him from terror and ugliness. “Yes, Mike, I’m going to call the constable.”

  “Barney?”

  “No. Liam O’Grady is the constable here,” she said. “Barney works in Bailtree. And you—you come inside right now.” The doll could easily be a warning, not just an obscene joke. And whoever had left it might still be nearby. “Come on, young man, come inside.”

  “Douglas will be here any second—”

  “And he’ll knock on the door! Come inside now!”

  She caught his hand and dragged him inside. She caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror and saw that she was very white, with huge purple shadows under her eyes. She’d been upset all weekend, even before this.

  Friday night had been exquisite, at least for a while, but then it had become Saturday, and Mike had come home. No matter how she tried, Kit had found herself growing more nervous and distant. Justin knew about Mike. He must have hired a private investigator to check into Mike’s birth.

  On Friday, as tender as Justin had been, she’d been too emotional to talk. And, as the hours had passed, she had grown more and more worried. She’d felt almost shut out. On Saturday, Justin and Mike had gone into the market together, then stopped to play darts with Barney Canail and Old Doug along the way. All three of them had had dinner together, but Justin, in a brooding mood, had left early.

  By Sunday she had been furious with herself. Why had she confessed anything? She knew that she was in love with Justin, and he said that he was in love with her. But it was so hard to really know. There was something as elementally pagan and wild about the man as about the land. Over eight long years she hadn’t been able to forget him. And she hadn’t been able to see him again without feeling the same overpowering need to touch him again. But could you build a future on that?

  And what was he planning to do about Mike?

  Her palms began to sweat. Was he going to say something to Mike? Surely he wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t do anything to take him away or press his point...or would he?

  “Mom?” She spun around. Mike was at her side. “Mom, you were going to call the constable.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her hands flew to her cheeks, and she hurried to the phone. They hadn’t fought, yet she suddenly wondered if she was speaking to Justin or not. She hesitated, then decided that, yes, she
would call him first.

  She dialed the single digit to reach his house and waited while the phone rang. She expected him to pick it up, and was surprised when Molly answered instead.

  “Molly, hello. It’s Kit. Is Justin there, please?”

  “Why, no, dear, he’s not. He’d headin’ out there fer the cottage already, he is.”

  “Oh.” Kit hesitated. “How long ago did he leave?”

  “Well, now, let me see. Why, he should be there. I’m sure I don’t know whatever could be keepin’ him.”

  Kit’s throat constricted slightly, and she had trouble saying goodbye. Then she found herself staring at the receiver. Would Justin have done such a thing? He had admitted that he wanted her to leave. If there was anything at all to her theory, she would be the murderer’s next victim. Would he do such a horrible thing to scare her away?

  How could she love a man and still mistrust him? But where was he?

  Frightened tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Mom! Justin is here! And Mr. Johnston is here, too! I’m going to tell them what happened!”

  “No, Mike, wait!”

  She was too late. She could hear the door slam; Mike was already running out to meet the two men.

  Nervously pushing up the sleeves of her red sweater, Kit hurried after him, struggling for composure.

  Mike had already reached Justin. They were at the far end of the walk. Kit could hear her son excitedly telling Justin what he had discovered. She watched Justin carefully as he hunkered down to be closer to Mike. A frown formed across his forehead, and then his eyes darted to her. They were dark, shielded and speculative. He rose quickly, but he didn’t come to her. Instead he paused, bending down again to look at the doll, but without touching it.

  Douglas Johnston followed, ducking down beside him. He was the first to speak to Kit. “Mrs. McHennessy, are you all right?”

  She swallowed and nodded, then walked down the steps. Douglas stood, smiling with concern. “It’s only a sick joke, you know.”

  “Probably.”

  “You should call Liam, though.”

  “Yes, I intend to.”

  Justin looked up sharply at that, then stood, frowning more deeply. “You haven’t called him yet?”

  She didn’t much care for his tone, but she didn’t have a chance to answer.

  He had already pushed brusquely past her into the house. He paused only long enough to call over his shoulder, “Don’t go touching anything, now.”

  Douglas Johnston cleared his throat. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, Kit, you know. He’s just...worried.”

  Kit glanced at him quickly. He had never repeated his dinner invitation to her, and now she understood why: Douglas, like everyone else in this place, would bow to the desires of Justin O’Niall. She felt as if she were wearing a brand.

  “Don’t defend him, Douglas. He’s being rude,” she said dismissively. And she smiled sweetly at him. “Have I ever really thanked you? You’ve done so much for Mike and me.”

  “’Tis nothing, Kit. I’ve told you.” He watched her for a long moment, then ruffled Mike’s hair. “We should be going.”

  “You’ll be okay, Mom,” Mike said confidently. “The O’Niall is here!”

  He ran to Douglas’s car, and Kit watched him with growing concern. Where had a seven-year-old come up with such a choice of words?

  Douglas looked at Kit, smiled ruefully and turned to follow his charge. “Don’t be worryin’ now, Kit!” he called to her. Then he paused, glanced quickly at Mike, and said more quietly, “Don’t be careless, though, eh? Keep the doors locked and don’t go wanderin’ off alone.”

  Her throat felt very tight. Was she a fool to stay here? She tried to smile, but she wasn’t feeling very brave. “I will be, Douglas. Thank you.”

  “I’m sure it was a prank.”

  “Yes.”

  “Or maybe a warning.”

  “A warning?”

  “That you should...leave.” He stared at her earnestly for several seconds, then cleared his throat. “Well, see you this afternoon.”

  “Yes, thanks, Douglas.”

  Justin came out of the house as Douglas waved goodbye. He was smiling, but Kit noticed his eyes narrowed in thought. “Liam O’Grady is on his way,” he said when Douglas and Mike were gone.

  Kit nodded, but her eyes fell to the doll, and despite herself, she shivered.

  “I called the airport,” Justin said.

  “What?” Incredulous, she stared at him again.

  “I’ve booked you and Mike on a flight out of Shannon at four tomorrow. Straight through to New York.”

  “Well, I’m not going—”

  “You are.”

  “I’m not! Even if I did leave, Justin, it wouldn’t be for home. I know it’s beyond your ability to comprehend this, but I am here to work!”

  He swore impatiently, settling his hands on his hips and staring at her angrily.

  She wished he didn’t seem so tall and strong, that she didn’t long to forget everything else and move into his arms.

  “Kit, is this book worth your life?” he demanded.

  “My life hasn’t been threatened.”

  “Well, this is hardly like receiving candy or a bouquet of flowers.”

  “Justin, you can’t tell me what to do. Maybe I can’t leave. Maybe I have to understand what happened eight years ago. All this ties in—I’m sure of it—and I owe it to Michael to stay until—”

  “Which Michael?” he demanded, suddenly and nastily.

  Kit froze. “Michael, my husband,” she said coolly, feeling suddenly cold inside, but still aware of him—and painfully frightened. “And just what is the problem with that?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I was just hoping that you weren’t planning on perpetuating this living-legend idea for Mike, that’s all.”

  She gasped, stepping away from him. “What are you planning on saying to him? You can’t say anything! You’d destroy him. He wouldn’t believe you, I’m certain. He’s never seen you before! You can’t just come out with something like that—”

  “And what do you want me to do?” he said, interrupting and closing the distance between them in a single stride. He didn’t touch her; he just towered over her, and she realized faintly that he didn’t want to touch her because he was too violently angry at her. “Tell him at his wedding, perhaps? For college graduation? Never?”

  She backed away again, clenching her fists at her sides. “No! I don’t know! But not now! I hadn’t thought—”

  “That’s right, you hadn’t thought! Because you didn’t intend to tell me! Why? What was your game? Come here and check the man out? Then, if I was a murderer, if I’d gone daft, or if you simply didn’t care too much for my personality, you could just forget all about my role in his birth. Sorry, Kit. You cheated me out of seven years. But you won’t cheat me of any more.”

  “What? Cheated you? My God! How do you think I felt? You might not have remembered me; you might not have cared!” She had known this was coming, but she still didn’t know how to deal with it. “You weren’t there! You don’t know what it felt like. I almost—”

  She broke off, paralyzed, knowing exactly how he would react to her next words.

  He was still. Dead still. And he was looking at her as if he would love to strangle her, then and there. Then he walked toward her again. She backed away a step, but it wasn’t enough. He caught her arms, and she felt the granite hardness of him, as cold and distant as the fall air.

  “You almost what, Kit?” he whispered threateningly.

  “Damn it, Justin,” she swore. “I was eighteen years old! I dreamed about this place, horrible nightmares, and I didn’t know what to think or feel. At first I didn’t even recognize myself! You can’t imagine how horrible that was!”

 
; “I’m trying.”

  “You’re not! You don’t understand anything about the real world!”

  “It’s wonderful to be loved,” he said bitterly.

  “If you loved me, you wouldn’t threaten Mike!”

  “I’m not threatening him!”

  “You are!”

  “You’re the one who feels threatened, because you can’t begin to imagine that what you did might have been wrong. Or are you still embarrassed over something that happened eight years ago? Well, what about me? I can’t even go up to my own flesh and blood and hold him. I have to be a stranger. I have to smile and keep my distance. I—”

  He broke off so suddenly that Kit instantly turned, aware that someone must be approaching.

  The constable, of course. Or constables. Justin must have called them both.

  Liam O’Grady and Barney Canail were perfect opposites, a Laurel-and-Hardy pair if Kit had ever seen one. Where Barney was tall and lean, Liam was short and as heavyset as a champion boxer. He had dark brown eyes the color of mahogany and a full head of graying hair that had once been bright red. His cheeks were perpetually red, giving him the appearance of a jovial Santa Claus.

  He was a nice man, too. Kit would never forget how gently he had dealt with her when Michael had died. How softly spoken his questions had been, how he had gone above and beyond the call of duty to accommodate her wishes. He hadn’t thought that she should stay on after Michael died—no one had—but he had checked on her welfare almost as frequently as Justin. His gentle appearance was deceiving in one aspect, though; his small dark eyes were as sharp as pencil points, and he didn’t miss a thing.

  “Mrs. McHennessy?”

  She could tell that he was pretending that he hadn’t heard a word, though it would have been impossible for either man to have missed her angry exchange with Justin.

  Liam stepped forward, stretching out his hand with a friendly smile. “I’ve been looking for a chance to see you, lass, e’er since I heard you were here. Welcome, welcome. I’m sorry to see you over this, though.”

  He reached for Kit’s hand and pumped it. She swallowed back her temper and her tears and kissed his cheek. “Liam, you haven’t changed a bit. You look marvelous.”