Briana

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  intend to return to Carrick House with her?"

  "Her mother is dead." He said the words with absolutely no emotion.

  Dead. Briana thought about the sadness she had sensed in Keane. And

  the pain she could see in his eyes when he thought no one was

  looking. No wonder he hadn't spoken about himself and his past. It

  would be far too painful for words. His father. His wife. Both gone.

  As if determined to purge himself of every darkness, he continued in

  that same controlled manner. "The child lives with her mother's

  family on a grand estate outside London.""But why?"

  "I gave her to them."

  "Gave? You don't mean you simply... gave away your only child?"

  He turned then, and she could see that his eyes had gone as blank as

  his tone. "As Victoria's parents reminded me, I was the one who took

  away their child. It seemed only fair that I should give them mine in

  return. And I agreed."

  "You...killed Victoria?"

  "It was my...involvement in Irish politics that caused her death, as

  well as this wound, which will pain me to my grave. I was found

  relaying secrets to...my Irish connection. A battle ensued. Victoria

  was in the carriage, awaiting my return from the boat docked at shore.

  My attackers killed her, then lay in wait for me. I wasn't as lucky as

  Victoria. I lived."

  "You wanted to die?"

  "Aye. I hated my life. Hated everything it stood for. I would have

  embraced death. It was why I was so good at what I did. A man who

  welcomes death is a dangerous opponent and an excellent spy. That

  was why I was recruited in the first place."

  She licked her lips, afraid to ask the question, but needing to hear the

  answer. "Do you still wish to die?"

  For., long moments he didn't answer. He merely stared out over the

  silvery landscape. At last he said, "Nay. I've finally found a reason to

  live. But I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you."

  "Is-that why you're telling me all this? Because you think you don't

  deserve me?"

  "Aye." He walked closer and stared down at her, seeing in her eyes all

  the pain and confusion and doubt his words had caused. "You're the

  finest woman I've ever known, Briana. Far too fine for a monster like

  me. I should have told you all this so long ago."

  "Why didn't you?"

  ' 'Add coward to the many other things I am. I didn't want to see in

  your eyes what I'm seeing now."

  Her tone was as bleak as her heart. This was all too much to take in at

  one time. "And now that I know, what do you expect me to do about

  it?"

  "I expect you'll want to leave for your home." He picked up the

  decanter of ale and headed toward the door. He intended, in the few

  hours left before dawn, to get roaring drunk. In the doorway he

  turned. "I'll arrange it first thing on the morrow."

  The door closed behind him. Leaving Briana alone with thoughts that

  were as distressing, as desolate, as the sky outside the window.

  Briana stood on the balcony in the predawn chill. For hours she had

  paced, much the same way Keane had when he'd relayed his painful

  tale of horrors.

  She would have given anything if he had never told her about his past.

  She much preferred ignorance to this pain that gripped her heart in its

  chilling vise. The pain was almost more than she could endure. A

  pain she feared might never end.

  A wife, she thought, clenching her hands into fists. Not just a wife. A

  wife who had once been his father's mistress. What sort of man could

  betray his own father that way?

  The answer came at once. One who had been so badly hurt as a child,

  he'd had no room in his heart for forgiveness. A man who had lost

  everyone he'd ever loved. She thought of her own family. Loud and

  impatient and wildly outrageous. But always loving. What would it

  be like to be all alone, with no one to care or to care about? The mere

  thought of it brought a lump to her throat that threatened to choke her.

  Nay, she would not give in to such maudlin thoughts. Keane O'Mara

  was a man who had not only stolen his father's mistress and made her

  his wife, but had abandoned his own child, as well. How could he do

  that, after having been abandoned himself?

  Again, she felt the answer in the stillness of her heart. Keane O'Mara

  was a man who believed he didn't even deserve the love of his own

  child.

  And now, he fully intended to drive Briana away, as well. Not

  because he didn't love her, but because he felt unworthy of her love.

  Of any love.

  He was a man who didn't fear death. A man, in fact, who embraced it.

  Because he believed, in the deepest recesses of his soul, that he didn't

  deserve to live a life of ease and contentment.

  The dismal bleakness of his existence touched her as nothing else

  ever had.

  She lifted her head, watching as the first thin strands of light began to

  chase the darkness. Seeing it, she was reminded of something she had

  read in the Book of Prayers.

  As surely as light follows darkness, goodness will always prevail

  over evil. But only so long as good men are willing to risk whatever

  necessary to that end.

  The words continued playing through her mind, resonating with

  hope. Suddenly she turned from the balcony and raced from the room.

  She found Keane in the library. Except for the red glow of coals on

  the grate, the room was dark and cold. Keane was merely a shadowy

  figure, standing unsteadily by the window, a glass in his hand.

  When he caught sight of her he snarled, "Go away, Briana. I'm not fit

  company."

  Instead of a reply, she merely tossed a log on the fire and stood

  watching as flames began to lick along the dry bark.

  "I said go away." He weaved slightly as he turned his back on her.

  "Have you told me everything now, Keane?"

  He refused to turn around. "Are you hoping for a few more scandals?

  A grisly murder perhaps? A few mutilated corpses? Haven't I said

  enough to shock your delicate sensibilities?"

  "I just want to be certain there isn't anything else."

  He lifted a hand, let it drop. "I've told you everything, Briana. And I

  give you my word, I'll make arrangements for you to return to

  Ballinarin on the morrow."

  "It isn't Ballinarin I wish to go to."

  He turned his head to look at her. "Where then?"

  She took a deep breath. "If you truly believe that you are a monster, a

  scoundrel, a wastrel like your father, why don't you take steps to

  change your life for the better?"

  He gave a dry laugh. ' 'And how would you suggest I do t^t now?"

  She "thought a moment. "You spoke of the child. Alana. Do you love

  her?"

  "Aye. It wasn't her fault that her father was a liar and a cheat, and that

  her mother was a..." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Forgive me. I'll

  not speak ill of the dead. Victoria's sins are buried with her now. My

  own are far worse.""Do you believe that we can atone for past sins?"

  He sighed. "I once thought so. Now, I'm not so sure."

  "Tell me, Keane. How do you feel no
w that you've armed the

  villagers and taught them to defend themselves? Do you think it

  somehow atones for the sins of your father?"

  "I hope so. Indeed, it's one of the reasons why I allowed you to

  persuade me of it. I wanted to restore respect for the O'Mara name

  once more."

  "Then, what would it take to atone for the sin of giving away your

  child?"

  He studied her for long, silent moments. "Are you thinking that I

  should take her back?" Seeing her smile, he shook his head. "It isn't

  that simple, Briana. Her grandparents are her fierce protectors. They

  employ an army of soldiers to guard the grounds of their estate, just to

  see that I never change my mind and try to take her from them."

  "Will they allow you to visit her?"

  He shrugged. "I haven't seen her since I left England more than three

  months ago. They made it plain that they didn't want me to return."

  "How did Alana react when you left?"

  He winced, hating the memory. The very thought of it had him

  tipping up his glass and draining it. "She's only an infant. She couldn't

  understand why her father was abandoning her. But she wept bitter

  tears and was weeping still as I drove off in my carriage. -The sound

  of her cries tears constantly at my heart."

  Briana thought of little Daniel McCann, his chubby fingers tugging

  on her hair, his sunny smile touching her heart. She knew now that

  her decision was the right one.

  As she started toward the door Keane called, "Where are you going?"

  "To tell Cora to pack a trunk with clothes suitable for a journey to

  England."

  Chapter Nineteen

  The fine carriage rolled through the streets of London. Briana, seated

  beside Keane, looked like any other English beauty, her gown of

  emerald satin with matching bonnet the height of fashion. Across

  from them sat Mistress Malloy. In the driver's seat was Vinson. The

  housekeeper and butler wore matching dazed expressions.

  And no wonder. There had been no time to consider the magnitude of

  this undertaking. There had been the trunks to pack, the long carriage

  ride to Dublin, where they had boarded the ship that brought them to

  London. And now, within hours of departing the boat, they were on

  their way to Greyhall, the Cranmer estate outside London.

  It was only now, as she glanced at the green parks with children

  playing under the watchful eye of their nurses, and she heard the

  voices, so different from the soft brogue she'd always known, that

  Briana realized the enormity of what she'd done.

  She shivered and Keane reached over to catch her hand. "Cold?"

  He would never know if it had been the ale that had caused him to go

  along with this charade, or if he had simply wanted this all along.

  Whatever the reason, he had permitted himself, like his butler and

  housekeeper, to be caught up in Briana's elaborate plans. But now

  that he was back on English soil, his old instincts took over. He

  wanted, needed, to make amends for the life he'd lived here.

  Especially for the sake of little Alana.

  "A little." While he warmed her fingers between his big hands, Briana

  muttered, "I must stop this. The lies come much too easily to my lips

  these days." She took a deep breath. "The truth is, I'm not cold. I'm

  afraid."

  "Good." He grinned. Winked. "That means you're human after all. I

  was beginning to think you were some sort of angel."

  "If you'd ask my family, they'd tell you a devil is closer to the truth."

  "Even better. I'm much more comfortable with devils than angels."

  He straightened as the high gates of Greyhall came into view. "Now

  you must listen to me, Briana." He stared down into her eyes. "You

  musn't get your hopes up too much. I agreed to this only because I

  could come up with nothing better." And because he couldn't bear the

  thought of letting her go. As long as she was plotting and scheming,

  she wasn't thinking about leaving him and returning to Ballinarin.

  "But I know Lord and Lady Cranmer. They'll never consent to letting

  Alana go. Not without a fight."

  "Still, Keane, we have to try."

  "Aye." He gave her a smile of encouragement. "We'll try. And if

  necessary, we'll be gracious in defeat."She lifted her chin a fraction as

  Vinson announced them and the gate swung wide to admit their

  carriage.

  The road leading to the manor house wound through sumptuous acres

  of manicured hedges and carefully tended gardens. Here and there

  servants could be seen, pruning trees, cleaning fountains.

  When at last they came to a halt in the courtyard, Keane climbed

  down, then assisted Briana and Mistress Malloy from the carriage.

  "You'll wait here," he said to Vinson. "I doubt we'll be long. Our

  hosts won't be inclined to invite us to stay and sup with them."

  The old man nodded.

  With Briana at his side, and Mistress Malloy trailing behind, Keane

  started toward the entrance, where a butler stood at attention.

  "Good day, Farley."

  The old man looked down his nose. "My lord."

  "I sent word that I was coming. Lord and Lady Cranmer are expecting

  me."

  "Aye, my lord." The butler stood aside as they entered, then led the

  way along a hallway toward the parlor.

  After announcing them, he held the door, then discreetly stood to one

  side, awaiting his orders.

  "Lord Alcott." A gray-haired man in blue satin coat .and breeches

  stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Keane returned the stiff handshake, then said, ' 'May I present Briana

  O'Neil. Briana, Lord and Lady Cranmer.'

  Lord Cranmer bowed over Briana's hand. "Miss O'Neil."

  His wife, as wide as she was tall, was wearing a gown of pale pink

  satin, with a neckline that revealed ropes of pearls that all but

  disappeared in mounds of pasty flesh. She had apparently donned as

  much jewelry as she could manage, in order to remind her guests of

  her extreme wealth. She gave a barely perceptible nod of her head in

  greeting.

  "My wife and I are surprised by your visit."

  "I don't know why you should be." Keane was careful to keep the

  anger from his voice. "I came to see my daughter."

  "It isn't convenient." Lady Cranmer's tone was pure ice. "The child is

  with her nurse. There are schedules to see to. When to eat. When to

  sleep. I don't believe in veering from such schedules."

  "And when does she play?" Keane demanded.

  "Play?!' The woman's eyes flashed. "Babies don't need to play, Lord

  Alcott. What they need is a firm hand. And a nurse trained in the

  discipline of child rearing."

  "Is this the same nurse who raised Victoria?" As Keane's temper went

  up a notch, so did his voice.

  The older woman flushed at the reminder of what her daughter had

  become. A mistress to one Irishman, and wife to another. "I'll not

  tolerate that tone in my nouse."

  Briana, seeing the temper flare in Keane's eyes, stepped between

  them. "I'm sure you won't object if we just go up and have a nice visit

  with Alana and her nurse?"

  "But I d
o object." Lady Cranmer looked to her husband for support.

  "The child has forgotten you, Lord Alcott. You'll only stir her up

  again."

  "The child?" Keane clenched a fist at his side. "Do you ever call her

  by name? Her name is Alana. Do you ever hold Alana? Kiss her?

  Cuddle her?"

  At the dark look in his eye, Lady Cranmer took a step back and lifted

  her head. ' 'Now you see why we must forbid you from seeing the

  child. If she has inherited that temper, Lord Alcott, it is up to us to see

  that it is eliminated before she grows to be a bold, defiant young

  woman."

  "What will you do? Beat it out of her?"

  "We shall see that it is eliminated. By whatever means necessary."

  Seeing that Keane and Lady Cranmer had reached an impasse, Briana

  turned to Lord Cranmer, giving him her brightest, most persuasive

  smile.

  "I don't believe that Lord Alcott has explained my presence here."

  "Nay, my lady." Ever the gentleman, Lord Cranmer seemed as

  determined as Briana to remain civil throughout this awkward ordeal.

  "Lord Alcott and I are to be wed." She saw the way Keane's head

  swiveled and chose to ignore him. "And I thought, before the

  wedding, I would present his child with a few gifts."

  "How very sweet, my dear." The older man actually managed a smile.

  "Did you bring these gifts with you?"

  "Aye." Briana nodded toward Mistress Malloy, who fumbled in her

  satchel and removed a soft, hide- covered ball, much like the one she

  had presented to Daniel McCann. Then she unwrapped the animal-

  shaped cakes which Cook had baked and carefully wrapped in linen

  squares.

  "Perhaps, while Lord Alcott visits with you here, our housekeeper

  and I might be allowed to have a glimpse of Alana."

  The older man glanced toward his wife for approval. When she gave a

  grudging nod of her head, he turned to the butler. "Will you show the

  ladies the way, Farley?"

  "Aye, my lord."

  "And see that one of our soldiers accompanies them as well," Lady

  Cranmer said through gritted teeth. She was leaving nothing to

  chance.

  The butler left and returned minutes later with a swordsman. Briana

  and Mistress Malloy followed them up the stairs to a second-story

  suite. Inside, a dour-faced nursemaid rocked in a chair by the fire,

  while a dark-haired infant sat in a small enclosure made by lining up