Briana

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  the jolt. After his little absence, he'd forgotten her effect on him. It

  was as potent as a tumbler of fine aged whiskey. And just as

  intoxicating.

  Rather than release her, he continued to hold her hands as he spread

  them apart and stared at the vision before him. "Look at you, Briana

  O'Neil. You look..." Like an angel, he thought. An angel caught in a

  whirlwind, "...like you're healing nicely."

  "Oh, I am." She squeezed his fingers and gave him a radiant smile.

  "I'm feeling ever so much stronger."

  "I'm pleased to hear it."

  "Your wine, my lord." Vinson stepped between them, offering two

  tumblers on a silver tray.

  "Thank you, Vinson." Keane was forced to release his hold on her as

  he accepted the two glasses, handing one to Briana, keeping the other

  for himself.

  Vinson returned the tray to a nearby table, then busied himself at the

  windows, drawing the draperies against the night.

  "Let's sit here by the fire." Keane motioned toward a chaise

  positioned in front of the fireplace. Like his butler, he noted that she

  no longer needed his aid in walking. And though he knew he ought to

  be cheered by her returning strength, he found himself missing her

  dependence on him.

  Briana sat, sipping her wine. "Tell me about your time away. How far

  did you journey?"

  "I tried to visit every town and village that make up the estate, though

  I fear I may have missed a few. The weather grew quite stormy in the

  north, and I found myself yearning for the comfort of my own bed."

  "Is your estate that vast, then, that you couldn't see it all in a week?"

  She was thinking about Ballinarin. Her father was considered one of

  the wealthiest landowners in Ireland. But he rarely journeyed more

  than a few days at a time to explore the estate.

  "Aye. It's vast," he said almost wearily.

  "Where did you sleep?"

  "In taverns and inns. Sometimes I had to ride until well past dark to

  find one that was habitable."

  "Couldn't you have stayed with your overseers?"

  He seemed surprised by the question. ' 'Why do you ask?"

  She shrugged. "It's where my father always stays when he travels

  across his estates. He knows all his overseers by name. And every

  addition to their families as well."

  Keane took a moment to sip his wine before replying. "I suppose I

  could have invited myself. But I'm new to them and unknown, except

  for my name. Many of the overseers are the sons of men my father

  once knew. I found them to be stiff and uncomfortable with me." He

  didn't add that many of the villagers had been openly hostile, as well.

  "Perhaps what you mistake for stiff and uncomfortable is really shy

  and reserved."

  He glanced at her over the rim of his glass. "I think I would know the

  difference."

  "Aye. One would think so." She dismissed the hint of impatience in

  his tone as mere weariness. "Are you pleased with the crops?"

  He nodded. "I'm told the yield would have been twice that of last

  year. But the English soldiers' attacks have left many of the farmers

  afraid to even venture from their homes into the fields. The soldiers

  have been stealing from the flocks and herds as well, leaving the

  farmers without profits." He crossed to the table and returned with the

  decanter, topping off her glass and his own. "What do you think of the

  wine?"

  "It's excellent."

  "I'm glad you approve. It's very special to me. It's from my French

  vineyards."

  "You own property in France?"

  "Aye. As well as Spain and Italy."

  Briana thought about what Cora had told her. No wonder the servants

  expected him to leave this poor land and make his home in some

  exotic location. He could afford to live anywhere in the world.

  "Is that why you seem unconcerned about the damage to the crops

  and herds?"

  "I'm not unconcerned. Merely at a loss as to what to do about it."

  "What to do? Why, you fight the English soldiers, of course."

  Before Keane could frame a reply, Vinson stepped between them

  once more. "Excuse me, my lord." With a little frown, the butler took

  note of the half- empty decanter. He'd have to pay more attention to

  such details. He couldn't permit the lass to drink too much. "Do you

  wish to sup in here or in the great hall?"

  "I think we'll take our meal in here tonight, Vinson. It's smaller.

  More...intimate." Vinson nearly groaned. "Very good, my lord. I'll

  tell Mistress Malloy."

  The old man hurried away to give the housekeeper her instructions.

  There would be no early bed for him or for the housekeeper. Both he

  and Mistress Malloy would have to stay alert this night. For there was

  a look in their lord's eyes that Vinson had seen before. It was a look

  he always dreaded. It meant Keane O'Mara was feeling

  especially...frisky.

  Chapter Eight

  Here we are, my lord." Mistress Malloy entered the library, trailed by

  half a dozen servants, who proceeded to set a table with fine linen and

  crystal and silver.

  More servants entered carrying steaming trays and platters, which

  were set on a side table, until it groaned under the weight of so much

  food.

  "Are you certain that's all for us?" Briana couldn't help laughing. "It

  looks as though you've cooked enough to feed an army."

  "Aye. Cook was worried. What with the master away so long, she

  thought he'd be wanting a few of his favorites." The housekeeper

  lifted a lid, sniffed. "There's beef and mutton. And salmon as the lord

  requested for you, lass. Biscuits and some fresh spring vegetables.

  And Cook baked one of her brandied currant cakes as you'd asked,

  my lord."

  When the servants were finished with their tasks, they stood to one

  side, waiting to serve the lord and his guest.

  Keane glanced over from his position by the fire-place. "Thank you,

  Mistress Malloy. You and the servants may leave now."

  "But, my lord, you'll be wanting our help."

  "Nay, Mistress Malone. Miss O'Neil and I will be fine." Keane

  topped off Briana's glass, then his own, before turning and handing

  the empty decanter to his butler.

  The housekeeper shot a withering look at Vinson as she and the

  servants took their leave. A moment later, when Vinson walked from

  the library carrying the silver tray, she was waiting for him in the

  hallway.

  "You said a little wine wouldn't hurt. But they've already emptied an

  entire decanter."

  "Aye," he said, tight-lipped. "I can see that."

  "Well? Now what are we supposed to do?" Her voice was an angry

  whisper.

  "1 suppose there's nothing to do but hover outside the door and

  listen."

  "Hover and listen? What good's that going to do?"

  "Whenever things get too quiet inside, we'll have to invent a reason to

  intrude."

  "Oh. I knew it. I knew this was going to get out of hand." She

  stomped away, wiping her sweating palms on her apron.

  Vinson followed a bit more slowly, wondering how many excu
ses he

  could come up with for interrupting Lord Alcott from whatever it was

  he was planning for his evening's entertainment.

  "Ah, this feels good, doesn't it?" Keane took the seat beside Briana on

  the chaise and stretched out his long legs toward the fire.

  "Aye. It's a lovely surprise. I'd expected to take a quiet meal in my

  room and be abed early." "Vinson tells me you've been spending time

  at midday with the servants in the kitchens."

  She nodded. "You have a wonderful staff. I had no idea that Cora was

  a great-niece of Mistress Malloy."

  Keane nodded. "Nor did I. Though I'm not surprised. Most of the staff

  at Carrick House is related through blood or marriage. They've been

  serving the O'Mara family for generations."

  "Cook told me she has a sister who lives in a village just east of

  Ballinarin. She's knitting a blanket for her sister's baby, expected at

  the end of summer. I promised her that when I return home I'll drop

  by for a quick visit, to drop off the blanket and send her love."

  "You'd do that for my cook?"

  "Aye. Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

  He studied her in the glow of firelight. "You're a most unusual

  woman, Briana O'Neil."

  "Am I now? And why do you think that?"

  "I've never known a highborn woman who mingled with the

  servants."

  "Highborn." She gave a snort of derision.

  "You have to admit that the O'Neil family is far from poor."

  "Aye. But it's none of my doing. Mother Superior said we're all

  accidents of birth. We have no say over where we'll be born or how

  we'll be taught. What we can choose is how we'll live our lives once

  the decisions are in our own hands."

  "And so you choose to live without boundaries."

  She thought about it a moment. "If you mean without boundaries of

  wealth or poverty, aye. It isn't the coin in a man's pocket that makes

  him hero or knave. It's what's in his heart. His soul."

  "And which do you suppose I am? Hero or knave?"

  "That isn't for me to judge. You know what's in your own heart. But

  I'm thinking that you are a harsh judge of yourself, Keane O'Mara."

  He sipped his wine a moment, gathering his thoughts. She was more

  than just unusual. She had an amazing capacity for insight that

  startled him.

  "If you were to ride over your newly acquired estates for the first

  time, Briana, what would you do?"

  She found the question odd, but after a moment said, "I'd chat with

  everyone I could. I'd ask them how to improve their herds or flocks,

  or how to enrich the soil. I'd ask the mothers what their children most

  need, and ask the village elders how to improve the lot of their

  citizens."

  "And when would you tell them what you wanted them to do?"

  She smiled. "I wouldn't."

  He blinked. "Not ever?"

  "Nay." She shook her head. "Instead, I'd let them know that, as lord of

  the manor, I wanted what was best for them."

  "Why?"

  "Because anything that improves their lives, improves mine as well.

  After all, doesn't the lord of the manor live by the sweat of his

  people?"

  For the space of a moment or two Keane seemed thunderstruck. He

  went very still. Then he got to his feet and began to pace. That's what

  he'd done wrong. He'd- behaved, from the beginning of his journey to

  end, like lord of the manor. Instead of asking, he'd given orders.

  Instead of listening; he'd given his opinion. Instead of learning from

  those who knew the soil and the herds, he'd lectured. No wonder

  they'd resented him. It wasn't just his reputation which had buried

  him. It was his attitude.

  When had he found any cooperation among them? When he'd

  complimented the village elders on the condition of their fields. He'd

  tossed them a single crumb of kindness, and they'd returned it tenfold.

  As he mulled all this over, he began to smile. Aye. The lass was right,

  of course. And he'd been right about her. She had an amazing insight.

  All the while that he paced, lost in thought, Briana said not a word,

  allowing him time to work out in his mind whatever it was that

  troubled him.

  A sudden loud knock broke the prolonged silence. The door was

  thrown open and Vinson charged into the room, carrying a full

  decanter on a silver tray. He glanced around, then seemed relieved to

  see his lord some distance from the lass.

  "Your wine, my lord."

  "Thank you, Vinson." Distracted, Keane motioned toward the table.

  "You may fill our goblets." He turned to Briana. "I'd forgotten all

  about our meal. Come, we'd best eat before our food grows cold."

  He caught her hand and led her toward the table, then held her chair

  as she took her seat.

  "Perhaps I should stay and serve," Vinson suggested.

  Keane slanted him a look. "Aye. A fine idea."

  He .settled himself at the table and lifted his glass. "I believe a toast is

  in order."

  Briana picked up her glass. "What are we drinking to?"

  "To pearls of wisdom, my lady."

  "I don't understand.""Ah, but you do. You, Briana O'Neil, seem to

  understand things better than anyone I've ever met. And when you

  explain your thoughts, they make more sense to me than all the

  lessons I was forced to learn as a lad in those hated boarding schools."

  "Then I'm pleased to know I make you so happy, my lord."

  He touched his glass to hers. "Oh, you do, Briana. You make me very

  happy." He turned to Vinson. "You may serve now."

  Puzzled, the old man did as he was told. But when, minutes later,

  Keane sent him on his way with a wave of his hand, he wondered just

  what had transpired to erase his lord's usually dour expression. The

  reason that came to mind left him more concerned than ever.

  "You didn't really invite a sword fight with English soldiers."

  Keane and Briana were once again seated comfortably in front of the

  fire. Dinner had been relaxed and slow and easy. They had polished

  off beef and mutton and salmon. Had finished six biscuits between

  them and even managed to share a piece of Cook's special cake. But

  neither of them could recall a single thing they'd eaten.

  He couldn't remember ever talking this much. Or listening with such

  intensity. Or laughing so often and so easily.

  Briana had regaled him with stories of her youth, of growing up in the

  shadow of two strong, warrior brothers.

  "I did. Aye. All my life I've had to live with the cruelty of those

  soldiers. I've watched as villagers were helpless against their swords.

  I've seen my father and brothers fight back against them. And I've

  heard my family rage endlessly at the table, or after dinner around the

  fire, about the injustice of such a presence in our land."

  "But watching and listening aren't the same as leaping into battle with

  the enemy."

  She nodded. "I know that. But that day, I just seemed to cross over a

  line. I saw the soldiers going into the village tavern. I heard their

  coarse words and laughter as a lass walked by. Saw the tears in the

  eyes of that helpless lass who had been so humili
ated by what they'd

  said to her. And something seemed to take hold of me. I rode home to

  Ballinarin and took down my grandfather's sword, then rode back to

  the village and stood waiting for them to emerge from the tavern.

  "God in heaven, Briana." His hand tightened on the stem of the

  goblet. "Couldn't anyone in the village stop you?" Restless, he got to

  his feet and walked to the fireplace, where he rested his hand along

  the mantel while he watched her.

  "Nay. I was Briana O'Neil, daughter of the lord of Ballinarin. They

  wouldn't have dared to stop me." She frowned, remembering. "And

  when the soldiers emerged, amid drunken laughter and good-natured

  bantering, I challenged them to fight. After their shock at such a bold,

  foolish prank as they called it, their leader knocked me from my horse

  and ordered his men to leave. I was so angry, I fought back, and he

  was forced to wound me, just to keep me from killing him."

  She winced, thinking back to that terrible, fateful day. "By the time

  the village lads carried me home, all bloody and dirty, my father was

  half-mad with worry."

  "He had every right to be."

  Her voice lowered. "All of Ireland knows that Gavin O'Neil has a

  fierce temper. I knew, the minute I saw his face, that I'd gone too far.

  With half the village watching and listening, he ordered me off to a

  cloister."

  He saw the pain that clouded her eyes. "What else could he do, lass, if

  he loved you?"

  "I don't know." She stood and began to pace. "Over time..." She

  stopped to glance at him. "...and there was plenty of that in the long,

  sleepless nights I passed those first few weeks in the convent.. .1

  realized that I'd forced my father's hand." She resumed her pacing. '

  'But I had this wonderful hope that sustained me. The hope that he'd

  send for me. And when he didn't, and the weeks stretched into

  months, and the months into years, I began to despair of ever seeing

  my home again."

  "And now, very soon, you shall."

  "Aye." She stopped her pacing. Her eyes were troubled. "But it wasn't

  my father who sent for me."

  "It wasn't?"

  "Nay." She shook her head. "Mother Superior told me jt was my

  mother who'd sent for me, after my father sustained a minor wound

  and became difficult to care for."

  "I see." He could see so much more. Though she was eager to return