Briana

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  to her home, she was fearful of the sort of greeting she would receive

  from the man who had banished her.

  Keane would know about such things. He placed a hand on her

  sleeve. "Don't you think he's missed you every bit as much as you've

  missed him?"

  "I hope so. I want to believe he has."

  ' 'Then trust that his love for you is as great as your love for him. And

  that he will rejoice when he hears that you are safe and will soon be

  returned to his care."

  She looked up into his eyes. "How is it that you understand how

  troubling this is to me?"

  His tone hardened. "Whatever I've learned about familial love, it

  wasn't taught to me in this house."

  Briana thought about what Cora had revealed. "Was there no one here

  at Carrick House who loved you, Keane?"

  "Aye. My mother and grandfather, I suppose. But they died when I

  was young. I was devastated, for then I was left with my father, who

  felt he was burdened with one small boy who was more bother than

  he was worth."

  "You can't be certain of that."

  He nodded. "Oh, but I am. My father saw me merely as an heir.

  Someone to carry on the name. But, until I was old enough to be of

  some use to him, he wanted me out of the way. And so I was sent

  abroad. And left there, with Vinson as my only connection with the

  past, until I was summoned home to carry on the family tradition."

  "At least your father summoned you home."

  "Aye. But not here, to Carrick, but rather to his new home in England.

  I was so filled with hatred and bitterness at the loss of all I'd held dear,

  I decided to exact revenge, I wanted to punish my father the way he

  had punished me all those years. I drank too much and spent money

  like a drunken sailor, and..." He paused, thought better about what

  he'd been about to say, and amended, "...and did a number of things

  I'd like to forget. And in so doing, I nearly destroyed myself just to

  spite my harsh, unyielding father."

  Briana shook her head, trying to deny what she'd heard. It was her

  turn to offer comfort. She placed a hand on his. "We all make

  mistakes, Keane."

  "Ah, but not all of them on such a grand scale as mine. I managed, in

  a single season, to destroy everything my ancestors held dear. Our

  name. Our reputation. Our bloodline." He turned away, staring into

  the flames of the fire. "I had no pride left. Not a shred. My behavior

  was despicable. What I did was unforgivable."

  "Don't say that." Without thinking, Briana caught his arm, turning

  him to face her. "There is nothing we can ever do that is beyond

  forgiveness."

  "Oh, lass." His eyes mirrored his torment. "If only I had your faith.

  And your sweet innocence."

  "Believe me, Keane." Her voice lowered with feeling. ' 'I know it to

  be true. But first, you must forgive yourself."

  He touched a hand to her cheek. "If only I could."

  There was such pain in his eyes. She couldn't bear to see him

  suffering so. Without thinking she pressed her lips to his. It was the

  sweetest of gestures. Meant to soothe. To heal. But the moment their

  lips met, everything changed.

  He seemed to shudder. And then a spark passed between them. A

  spark that leapt into flame.

  His mouth took hers with a fierceness that spoke of hunger, of pain.

  The hands at her shoulders were rough with impatience. He dragged

  her close, then closer still as his lips moved over hers, taking,

  demanding.

  Her wispy shawl drifted to the floor and lay, discarded at their feet.

  She could taste the need. Desperate. Deep. Endless. And she had an

  equally desperate need to satisfy it. She poured herself into the kiss,

  opening her heart, her soul.

  He lifted his head for a moment, staring down into her eyes. "Ah,

  Briana. You're so sweet. So good for me."

  And then his mouth was everywhere. Across her face, as he

  whispered unintelligible words. Down her throat, until she arched her

  neck and sighed with pure pleasure.

  His mouth came back to find hers, drawing out the sweet, innocent

  taste that was hers alone. She tasted of French wine and spring roses.

  Like the clear, pure water of a Derry stream.

  He was desperate to taste her. All of her. And yet he lingered over her

  lips while his hands began a lazy exploration of her back. He could

  feel her soft sigh of pleasure as his hands pressed, massaged, aroused.

  He moved his hands along her sides, until his thumbs encountered the

  swell of her breasts.

  She gasped in shock as her body reacted to his touch. She felt her

  nipples harden, her blood heat, as a pulse began throbbing deep

  inside. But before she could push away, he took the kiss deeper,

  swallowing her protest. And then she was lost in a rush of sensations

  that robbed her of all thought.

  In some small corner of his mind, Keane knew that he had crossed a

  line. This innocent in his arms deserved better, for she had no

  defenses. But he needed desperately to cling to her, to take what she

  so generously offered. He filled himself with her goodness, her

  sweetness. And as he did, he took them both higher, until they were

  battered by need.

  He felt as if he were standing on the brink of a high, steep precipice.

  One misstep, and they would both fall. The decision was his. The

  power to save her, or to take her crashing down with him lay in his

  strength of will.

  For a moment longer he lingered, tempting himself.

  At last he lifted his head and held her a little away.

  "Briana. God in heaven, lass, I need a moment." With his hands at her

  shoulders he pressed his forehead to hers, taking in deep draughts of

  air to clear his head.

  He could feel her doing the same.

  "My lord." The door was thrown open, and Vinson stopped short in

  the doorway.

  Two heads came up sharply. Keane and Briana stepped apart.

  "What is it?" Keane's tone was sharp with impatience as he bent and

  retrieved her fallen shawl.

  "I have a lad here with fresh wood for the fire." Vinson stepped aside

  to indicate a burly servant struggling under the weight of a log.

  "We've no need for a fire." In fact, Keane realized, he was damp with

  sweat.

  "Then I'll have him take it up to the lass's chambers." Vinson paused a

  moment, aware of what he'd interrupted, and determined to see that it

  went no further. "Perhaps you could accompany the lass upstairs

  now."

  '^Aye." Keane took a deep breath, avoiding Briana's eyes. "I think

  that would be wise."

  Still trembling with need they made their way from the room and

  climbed the stairs as if in a trance. When they reached Briana's

  chambers, they paused, aware of Vinson and the servant standing

  silently behind them.

  "Good night, Briana." Keane lifted her hand to his lips, then took a

  step back, breaking contact.

  "Good night, Keane." She glanced at his face, but could read nothing

  in his eyes. They were, like the man, once again cool, composed,

  devoid
of all emotion.

  She followed the servant inside her chambers. And stood, on legs that

  threatened to fail her, until his chore was complete. When she was

  alone, she sank down on the edge of the bed, praying the trembling

  would soon pass.

  Chapter Nine

  Keane stood on the balcony, watching the first faint light of dawn

  begin to slide over the horizon. He'd been too restless to sleep. He

  knew the cause.

  Briana O'Neil.

  He'd never expected to feel this way again in his lifetime. Was it

  because this lass was so sweet, so innocent that she made him feel

  that way, too? He'd felt a kind of cleansing as he'd kissed her, held

  her. As though her goodness was enough for both of them. In fact, he

  was almost beginning to think he could begin anew. That somehow,

  despite all that had gone before, he could overcome his past and start

  over.

  Oh, not that he'd been fooled into believing he could ever be innocent

  again. There'd been a demon inside him that made him want, more

  than anything in the world, to seduce her. To take her there in the

  library, with the fire playing over her face, and the taste of wine on

  her lips.

  It would have been so easy. She was such a willing participant. Her

  kisses, though chaste, were generous. There was so much passion

  simmering inside of her.

  Passion and fierce, all-consuming energy. It was intoxicating. It was

  exciting. It was far too tempting.

  He found himself wondering what would have happened if Vinson

  hadn't interrupted them.

  Looking back on the evening, he realized there'd been several such

  interruptions. Could it be that the servants didn't trust him and were

  looking out for "their lass"? Perhaps they saw it as their obligation to

  keep the innocent from being led astray by the jaded lord of the

  manor.

  The very thought had him chuckling. Perhaps he was the one who

  needed protection. The lass, by her very sweetness, was far too

  irresistible. And her mind was as fascinating as her body.

  He began to pace as he thought about all he and Briana had talked

  about. There were so many things playing through his mind. Ideas,

  thoughts, all of them planted by their conversation last night.

  He had thought he would have to go far away to put his ideas into

  practice. Ideas about crop rotation and importing stock from other

  countries for breeding. Ideas about improving the lives of those who

  lived on the land by becoming self-sufficient, and perhaps even

  trading with those from other lands.

  But if he could learn to put aside his tarnished reputation and express

  his true interest in the people and land here at Carrick, they just might

  open up to him. And perhaps, in time, this place could even feel like

  home again.

  A knock on the door interrupted his musings.

  "Come," he called with annoyance.

  "Forgive me, my lord." Vinson stood on the threshold, holding a

  candle aloft. "I saw the light and thought you might have need of

  me.""Nay. Go back to bed, old man."

  "Aye, my lord."

  As he backed away Keane changed his mind. His harsh tone softened.

  "Wait. As long as you're up, Vinson, come inside and close the door."

  The elderly servant did as he was told, bracing himself for the

  expected reprimand for the number of times he'd interrupted his lord

  and the young lady the previous evening.

  "Tell me, Vinson. Do you think a soul blackened by sin can ever be

  wiped clean again?"

  The old man blinked. This was the last thing he'd ever have expected

  to be asked. "We are taught so by our church, my lord."

  Keane waved a hand. "I'm not interested in what the good friars

  preach. You know I turned my back on my faith long ago. I want to

  know if you believe it to be so."

  Vinson cleared his throat. "I believe that a man will be judged by the

  deeds of his entire lifetime, not just the deeds or...misdeeds of his

  youth. If a man should find one noble purpose to pursue for purely

  unselfish reasons, it could wipe away a multitude of sins."

  "A multitude of sins." Keane turned away to stare at the pale golden

  light beginning to creep over the horizon. "But sometimes even the

  most noble purpose pursued for the most unselfish of reasons, can

  cause pain to innocents."

  "That may be true, my lord. But that cannot stop the good man from

  trying. He will still know in his heart that his motives were pure."

  "Aye. Purity." He made a sound that might have been a grunt or a

  chuckle. "A word I'd not believed in, until recently."

  A moment later he heard the door close as the old man returned to his

  bed. Then he was alone again. Still unable to sleep as he pondered.

  And brooded. And paced.

  "Good morrow, my lady." Cora drew open the draperies, allowing

  morning sunlight to spill into the room.

  "Good morrow, Cora." Briana yawned, stretched, then lifted her arms

  high. "Oh, isn't it a glorious day?"

  "Aye, my lady." Cora filled a basin with warm, rose-scented water

  and laid out an assortment of linens and soaps. "Lord Alcott sent

  word that he must ride to the village this morrow. But he hopes you

  will join him for a midday meal in the garden."

  "He's riding to the village?" Briana flew to the balcony, and could see

  a horse, saddled and ready, in the courtyard below. "Oh, Cora. I must

  hurry and dress. For I wish to ride with him."

  "It's much too soon for you to attempt to ride, my lady. And there's no

  way you can be ready to leave in time to accompany Lord Alcott.

  Why, you haven't even broken your fast yet."

  But Briana was already stripping off her nightshift. A few swipes

  with a soapy cloth, a few rinses, and she was struggling into her

  chemise and petticoats.

  "My lady, I have nothing in your meager wardrobe appropriate for

  riding. I had planned that you would wear this lovely white gown of

  lawn for your lunch in the garden."

  "It'll be fine, Cora. Help me into it." Briana was already slipping it

  over her head.

  With fumbling fingers the little servant fastened the row of buttons,

  and had barely run a brush through Briana's curls before the lass was

  hurrying down the stairs and out the door.

  The courtyard was empty.

  Despite her haste, she had missed Keane's departure.

  Lifting her skirts, she flew across the courtyard and ran to the stables.

  When she found a lad mucking stalls she called breathlessly, "I desire

  a horse, saddled and ready as quickly as possible."

  "Aye, my lady. I'll fetch the stable master."

  "Nay. The stable master will never..." Briana stopped. The lad had

  already ambled away.

  She spied a horse already saddled, standing quietly in one of the

  stalls. Without waiting for permission, she opened the stall and led

  the horse outside. Using an overturned bucket as a stool, she managed

  to pull herself into the saddle, though it meant hiking her skirts to her

  knees.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see old Monroe, the stable

&nb
sp; master, coming at a run. Anticipating an argument, one she would

  surely lose, she urged the horse into a gallop.

  Minutes later, ignoring the shouts coming from the vicinity of the

  stable, she leaned low over the horse's head and urged him even

  faster.

  She knew it was just a matter of time before the stern old stable

  master would have another horse saddled. She was fairly certain he

  wouldn't give up until he caught her. Unless, of course, she caught up

  with Keane first. She would use all her powers of persuasion to

  convince him that she was completely mended and more than capable

  of riding to the village and back, despite the decidedly unladylike

  posture.

  Up ahead, across a field dotted with ancient standing stones, she

  could see a horse and rider trotting smartly.

  A laugh of delight escaped her lips.

  "Keane." She shouted his name. Once. Twice. "Keane." She cupped

  her hands together and shouted with all her might.

  When at last he heard her and turned in the saddle, she waved a hand.

  "Wait for me. I'm coming with you."

  She was surprised by his reaction. She'd expected him to be pleased.

  But after his initial surprise, he appeared to be signalling her to halt.

  Ridiculous. Why would she stop now? She hadn't gone to all this

  trouble, only to miss this opportunity to ride with him.

  She gave her horse its head. It raced, full gallop, across the field.

  When they approached the piles of stones, Briana tugged on the reins,

  intending to make a wide circle around them. The horse, ignoring her

  signal, headed straight for them. In a flash, Briana realized her

  mistake. This horse was a jumper. He'd been bred for that solitary

  purpose. And now, acting on instinct, he was determined to clear the

  hurdle.

  It was too late to stop the inevitable. She gathered herself for what

  was coming.

  All her life she had been a highly skilled, fearless equestrienne. But as

  the horse headed toward the hurdle, she saw out of the corner of her

  eye, a contingent of horsemen on the far side of the field.

  Soldiers. English soldiers. For the space of a moment her heart

  seemed to stop. As the horse leapt, the distraction caused Briana to

  lean just a fraction too far forward as she attempted to shout a

  warning. Her body arched, snapped. She felt herself flying through

  the air, then tumbling, before crashing to the stones below.