Briana

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  What brought you to our village?"

  "I was passing through." She sighed, thinking of the eagerness with

  which she'd taken her leave of the convent. "We'd gone only a day's

  ride when the soldiers attacked.""Who were the lads accompanying

  you?"

  "Lads from our village. Sent by my family to escort me." She looked

  away. "How odd, that I should be the one to live. They will never see

  their families again."

  He could hear the break in her voice and knew that she was close to

  tears. "I'll see that a lad from the village is dispatched at once to your

  home with the news that you are alive and will be returned as soon as

  your health permits."

  "That's most kind of you."

  He pushed back his chair and crossed to the side table. "My

  housekeeper sent up a tray. Could you manage a little broth?"

  "Nay." She shook her head.

  "Nonsense." Ignoring her protest, he filled a cup with broth and set it

  beside the bed. Then, without waiting for her permission, he reached

  down and lifted her to a sitting position, plumping pillows behind her.

  He had thought, now that she had confirmed his suspicions that she

  was truly a nun, that the touch of her would no longer affect him. He'd

  been wrong. He couldn't help but notice the thin, angular body

  beneath the prim nightshift. And the soft swell of breasts that were

  pressed against his chest, causing a rush of heat that left him shaken.

  It had been a long time since he'd known such feelings. Feelings he'd

  buried, in the hope they would never surface again. Now that he was

  touching her, there was nothing to do but finish the task at hand.

  Then, hopefully, he could put some distance between himself and this

  woman.

  For Briana it was even more disturbing. The mere touch of him had

  her nerves jumping. But it wasn't this man, she told herself. It was the

  fact that she had been isolated for too long. Anyone's touch would

  have had the same effect.

  He picked up the cup. "Can you manage yourself? Or would you like

  some help?"

  Her tone was sharper than she intended, to hide her discomfort. "I

  thank you, but I can feed myself."

  When she reached out to accept the cup, she was shocked to feel pain,

  hot and sharp, shooting along her arm. A cry escaped her lips before

  she could stop it.

  "Careful." His tone was deliberately soft, to soothe the nerves she

  couldn't hide. "You sustained quite a wound in that shoulder.

  Another, more serious, in the chest. Had the blade found your heart,

  you would have never survived."

  Before she could reach out again, he sat on the edge of the bed and

  held the cup to her lips. It was an oddly intimate gesture that let him

  study her carefully as she sipped, swallowed. He could see her

  watching him from beneath lowered lashes.

  To steady her nerves, and his own, he engaged her in conversation.

  "Do you recall anything of the battle?"

  "I see it constantly in my dreams. But when I'm awake it's gone, like

  wisps of smoke caught by the wind."

  "Do you recall how many soldiers there were?"

  She avoided his eyes. They were too dark, too intense. "I don't recall."

  "It would have been a fearsome sight, especially for one who has

  been so sheltered." He understood how the mind could reject such

  horrors.

  She shivered. "What I do recall was the sight of so many helpless

  people cut down without a chance to defend themselves. There were

  but a few knives and swords among them."

  "The people are ill-prepared for English soldiers." A fact he bitterly

  resented, for it had been his own father's doing. Still, there was

  nothing to be done about it now. "But it would seem that you put up

  quite a fight."

  For the first time she smiled, and he realized how truly lovely those

  full, pouty lips were when they curved upward. "I didn't always live

  in a convent. I know how to wield a sword with as much skill as my

  brothers. In fact, if I were still living at Ballinarin, I'd probably be

  able to best them by now."

  He tipped the cup to her lips again. ' Then perhaps it's fortunate that

  you went to live with the good sisters. I'm not sure Ireland is ready to

  be led into battle by a lass."

  "Spoken like a man." His words reminded her of her father's cruel,

  hateful words hurled in anger so long ago. She pushed his hand away,

  refusing any more broth.

  He glanced down at the cup. "Have you had enough?"

  "Aye. Thank you." And enough of him, sitting too close, causing her

  heart to do all manner of strange things.

  "How did you come by a weapon with which to defend yourself?"

  "I pulled it from the heart of a lad who had died defending me."

  He studied her a moment, hearing not just the words, but the

  underlying fierceness in her tone. What an odd little female. He'd

  always thought nuns would be more concerned with peace than war.

  He stood and returned the cup to the tray. But when he glanced at the

  figure in the bed, he could see her rubbing her shoulder. The look in

  her eyes told him she was struggling for composure. Aye, a most

  peculiar little creature who was trying desperately to be strong

  despite overwhelming odds.

  "There's an opiate here for pain. I think you ought to take it now."

  "Aye." She nodded, and was grateful when he offered her the tumbler

  of liquid.

  When she had drained it he set the empty tumbler aside and helped

  her to settle into a more comfortable position. It was shocking to feel

  his arms around her as he lifted her slightly, removing the pillows

  from behind her back. Then he swept aside the bed linens and laid her

  down, before returning the covers. As he smoothed them over her, his

  hands stilled their movements.

  "You're so thin. Didn't they feed you in the convent?"

  Her face flamed. "They fed us. Though no amount of food would be

  enough, considering the work we were expected to do."

  "Work?"

  She had forgotten how to speak to others. After the silence of these

  last years, the art of conversation was new to her. She struggled to put

  her thoughts into words. "There were classes, of course. History,

  literature, biology. And the teachings of the Church fathers. But we

  also were expected to plant and harvest, and tend the flocks."

  "Like peasants?" His tone was one of amazement.

  "Aye. Like the peasants we serve." Her tone softened as she

  remembered the lecture by Mother Supe-nor, delivered nightly in

  their common prayer. "Because much has been given us, much is

  expected. And though we are educated, we are expected to serve all

  God's people. By punishing the body, we nourish the soul."

  He was so moved by her words, he caught both her hands in his. "I

  didn't know there were such unselfish souls left in this world. Bless

  you." He turned her hands palm up. Seeing the calluses, he muttered

  an oath and, without thinking, lifted them to his lips.

  Dear heaven. What had possessed him? He hadn't intended such a

  thing. And yet, seeing the ravages of such har
d work on those small,

  delicate hands, he had reacted instinctively. Now there was nothing to

  do but cover his error with as much dignity as he could manage. Still,

  though he knew he had overstepped his bounds, he couldn't seem to

  stop. He kept her small hands in his and pressed a second kiss, before

  lifting his head.

  At the shocking feel of his mouth against her flesh Briana gasped and

  struggled to pull her hands away. But it was too late. The damage had

  been done. She could feel the heat. It danced along her flesh and

  seared the blood flowing through her veins before settling deep inside

  her. A heat that had her cheeks stained with color. Her eyes went

  wide with shock. And though no words came out, her mouth opened,

  then snapped shut.

  She looked up to find him staring at her with a strange, almost

  haunted look in his eyes. Even as she watched, he blinked, and the

  look was gone.

  Or had she only imagined it?

  "I'll leave you to your rest, Briana O'Neil." He turned away abruptly

  and picked up the empty tumbler.

  She watched as he set the tumbler on the tray. Then, knowing the

  blush was still on her cheeks, she rolled to her side, wishing she could

  pull the covers over her head and hide.

  What had just happened between them? She wasn't quite certain.

  Perhaps he had merely reacted to her work-worn hands. Or perhaps

  he was simply trying to soothe her, or honor her. Whatever his reason,

  he'd had no way of knowing how deeply she would be affected by

  that simple gesture.

  Oh, how she wished she knew how to deal with these strange feelings

  that had her so agitated. But the isolation of the convent had

  magnified everything in her mind. All she knew was that the simple

  press of Keane' O'Mara's lips against her palm had started a fire in the

  pit of her stomach that was burning still.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wishing she could shut out her

  feelings as easily. But they were there, fluttering like butterfly wings

  against her throat, her temple, her chest. She prayed the potion would

  soon have the desired effect. She wanted desperately to escape into

  blissful sleep.

  In time her wish was granted.

  There was no such escape for Keane. Throughout the long night he

  was forced to keep his vigil. He sat by the bedside and watched the

  steady rise and fall of the thin chest beneath the blankets as Briana

  slept, and wondered why a woman from the noble house of Ballinarin

  would give up a life of luxury to live like a peasant.

  Whenever his gaze was drawn to those small callused hands, he

  would find himself pacing to the window, to stare moodily into the

  darkness. It was the only way to keep his gaze from being drawn to

  her mouth.

  The strange desire to taste her lips, just once, had him muttering every

  hot, fierce oath he knew.

  Chapter Four

  Good day, my lady." Cora swept open the draperies, then paused

  beside the bed. "You have a bit of color in your cheeks. A good sign.

  Do you feel strong enough to leave your bed?"

  "I'm not certain." Briana touched her tongue to her dry lips. The days

  and nights had passed in a blur. But thanks to the opiates, and the

  prolonged rest, the deep, searing pain had eased. "I'm willing to try."

  She sat up and waited until the dizziness left, then swung her feet to

  the floor. "How long have I been at Carrick House?"

  "A fortnight, my lady."

  Could it really be two weeks? "How could I have slept so long?"

  "Mistress Malloy said it is the opiates. And the fact that your poor

  body craved rest in order to heal."

  "Whatever the reason, I feel almost alive again."

  ' 'The lord left orders that, as soon as you were able, we must prepare

  a bath. Do you think you're strong enough for that?"

  Briana's smile bloomed. "For the offer of a bath, I'll muster all the

  strength I have."Cora plumped pillows around her, then flew to the

  door. "I'll just summon Mistress Malloy and some servants, and I'll be

  right back."

  Briana barely had time to close her eyes and steady herself before

  Cora had returned, trailed by the housekeeper and a string of servants.

  "Well now." Mistress Malloy had plump apple cheeks and twinkling

  blue eyes. Her white hair was pulled back in a tight, neat bun at her

  nape. She stood with hands on her ample hips, studying the young

  woman who had occupied so much of the lord's time and energy.

  "Cora says you're feeling strong enough for a bath."

  "I think I can manage."

  "Good." Mistress Malloy took charge, seeing that another log was

  added to the fire while the tub was filled with warm water, and soft

  linens were laid out on a chair.

  "You're not to attempt to stand alone, miss." With the housekeeper on

  one side of her and Cora on the other, they supported Briana from her

  bed to the tub. With the servant's help, Briana removed her nightshift

  and stepped into the water.

  While Cora scrubbed her hair, Briana closed her eyes and sighed with

  pleasure. "Oh, it has been years since I've felt so pampered."

  "You do not bathe in the convent?" one of the servants asked.

  Briana laughed. "We wash in a basin of cold water." She shivered just

  remembering.

  ' Could you not heat the water over the fire?"

  ' 'There was no time. We had only minutes to wash before we had to

  hurry to chapel for morning prayers."

  "Did you cry when your hair was cut off?" Cora asked.

  "Aye. I wept buckets of tears. But later, when I was doing penance for

  my display of false vanity, Mother Superior reminded me that it's not

  what is outside a person that counts. It is what's in one's heart."

  "Well said." Mistress Malloy nodded in agreement. She liked this

  lass. A refreshing change from most of the highborn women who

  thought themselves above the rest of the world. Of course, such

  humility was to be expected of a woman who'd promised her life in

  service to the Church.

  "But your hair, my lady." Cora poured warm scented water to rinse

  away the soap. Then she held up one short gleaming strand, while the

  others gathered around to study it. "It is the color of fire. It must have

  been lovely before it was shorn."

  "I always thought so. But it no longer matters." Briana snuggled

  deeper into the warm water, loving the feeling of freedom. ' 'I have

  not seen my reflection, nor cared to, in three years now."

  The servants exchanged looks before one of them said, ' 'But my lady,

  you are truly beautiful. Even with your hair shorn."

  "Beautiful? Now I know you jest. For Cora told me that even the old

  man who found me thought I was a lad."

  "Because you were covered with mud and blood, my lady. Now that

  we can see you, you truly are pleasing to the eye."

  Briana waved a hand in dismissal. "It matters not. What matters is

  that I am alive. And so enjoying all your tender ministrations." She

  found herself laughing, and loving the sound. "It has been so long

  now since I've felt this joyful. But it is the knowledge that I
am free.

  Truly free."

  "Free? What do you mean, my lady?" Cora asked.

  "I am free of the confining rules and restrictions of the convent."

  "You are not going back?"

  "Nay. I was heading home when we were attacked. And now, for the

  first time, I realize just how much I have survived, thanks to Lord

  Alcott. Not only the attack by the English soldiers, but the last threat

  to my freedom. You see, as soon as I am strong enough, I will be

  returning home, to my beloved Ballinarin."

  "You're certain she said she is not a nun?" Vinson stood in the

  shadows of the hallway, his voice low.

  "That is what she just told us." The housekeeper's eyes were shining.

  "You saw how obsessed he was with her. She could be the answer to

  our prayers."

  The old man shrugged. "Maybe. But you say she is eager to return to

  her home."

  "Aye. But she is far too weak to attempt the journey yet. It could be

  weeks, months even, before she could endure it." Mistress Malloy

  lowered her voice. "She seems a lovely, simple lass. 1 see no harm in

  throwing them together and seeing what transpires."

  "This is a dangerous game we play with other people's lives."

  "Aye. But there's so little time. You said yourself he plans to leave.

  And he is our last, our only hope."

  Vinson stared off into space, mulling it over. Then he nodded. "Leave

  it to me. I'll think of a way."

  "My lord."

  Keane looked up from the ledgers and was surprised to see the

  evening shadows outside the window. Where had the day gone?

  "Aye, Vinson."

  "The lass felt strong enough to bathe."

  Keane nodded. "A good sign."

  "Aye, my lord. Very soon now, she will be well enough to leave."

  "So it would seem." He had won the battle. The patient was not only

  alive, but growing stronger with each day. He took a certain amount

  of pleasure in the knowledge that he had played a small part in her

  survival. There'd been so little in his life to be proud of.

  Vinson cleared his throat.

  Keane tensed, waiting for the old man to say what was on his mind.

  He was eager to return his attention to the ledgers.

  ' I thought, since the lass is strong enough to bathe, you might wish to

  invite her to sup with you."

  Keane frowned. "I'm certain she'd prefer to eat in her chambers."

  "She has not left her room in a fortnight, my lord. The change might