Connor put Caitlyn down on her narrow iron bedstead and reached for the laces at her waist, seemingly intent on removing her breeches himself to inspect the damage. Alarmed at the sudden movement, she widened her eyes and her hands flew to close over his.
"N-no!" she stuttered. As he met her eyes, frowning impatiently, Mrs. McFee entered, huffing and puffing at the climb, the requested water and bandages in her hands.
"Mrs. McFee can help you, then," he said abrupdy, apparently remembering that Caitlyn was a female.
"I can do it myself," Caitlyn said, getting shakily to her feet and retiring behind the screen that shielded one small comer. Mrs. McFee sniffed and took herself off. Connor waited, sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Well?" he said finally, when she didn't say anything.
"I seem to be hurt-inside. That's where the blood is coming from." Caitlyn had removed her breeches and drawers and inspected both her thighs and then her stomach and rear as well as she could, but nary a cut had she found. At the thought of how terrible an internal injury she must have suffered to be bleeding so, she felt lightheaded again.
"Inside? Inside where?"
"The blood's coming from my-my privates." The words were tremulous. There was a long silence. His reply, when it came, was oddly gende.
"Caitlyn, lass, could it be your time?"
"My time?" She didn't understand.
"Your woman's time."
"My woman's…" Her voice failed her. Vaguely she remembered that her mother had bled with clockwork reg- ularity until she had gotten with child. But Caitlyn had never associated such with herself. Hot color stole up her cheeks. She felt hideously embarrassed and also at a loss. What happened now? There was so much blood-how did one make it go away? She had been too young when her mother died to have ever discussed the subject.
Her long silence must have told Connor all he needed to know. She heard a deep, long-suffering kind of sigh, then, "Make yourself decent and come out here."
"No!" Never as long as she lived could she look him in the face again. That he should know such an intimate thing about her was mortifying. She felt shamed, unclean.
"Either you make yourself decent and come out, or I'll haul you out just as you are. I want to talk to you. There's no one else to do so except Mrs. McFee. And you don't seem to care for her overmuch. But if you wish I'll fetch her."
"No!" Caitlyn's denial was as emphatic as it was instinctive. Mrs. McFee detested her enough already.
"Then make yourself decent and come out. Now."
Connor was perfectly capable of doing as he threatened, she knew. She had no clothes behind the screen except the bloodstained breeches she had removed. Still wearing Cormac's long-tailed shirt, which by itself covered her to her knees, she reached out an arm, pulled her quilt from the quilt rack where she folded it neatly every morning, wrapped it around herself, and came hesitantly out from behind the screen. Meeting Connor's eyes, she blushed from her toes to her hairline. Then she dropped her gaze to the floor.
"You've no need to be shamed, lass. 'Tis perfectly natural and normal." When she didn't respond to that except to continue to stare at the floor, he sighed again and told her to sit. Caitlyn dared a fleeting look at him, and he indicated the opposite end of the narrow bed from where he perched at its foot. Caitlyn reluctandy sat, face averted and pink as she resolutely studied the bedknobs instead of his face.
"Such a thing has never happened to you before?"
Dumb with embarrassment at the thought of discussing such a thing with him, she shook her head. She still could not meet his eyes.
"You're thirteen, or thereabouts?"
"Fifteen. Almost sixteen, I think." Her voice was muffled.
"Then you're late getting started. Most lasses start a little earlier than that, I'm thinking." His tone was easy, as though he conversed on such intimate subjects all the time. "Still, not having enough to eat during your growing years will account for it, most likely. But whatever the reason for it, you've just become a woman grown. Congratulations. ''
"Congratulations…!" That word so dumbfounded her that her eyes flew to his. He smiled at her.
" 'Tis no very terrible thing after all, you know. In many cultures, we'd be planning a celebration tonight."
"A celebration…!" It seemed all she could do was echo his words. A twinkle lighted his eyes.
"I wouldn't go so far as that, either, because most lasses are sensitive about the subject, as you are. That's as it should be, because it's a private thing. But it's naught to be ashamed of. Just as lads are proud, not shamed, when they shave their first whiskers. 'Tis a sign of growing up."
"I hate it." The words were near whispered, and they were from the soul.
"Be that as it may, it's a fact of a woman's life." And in short, succinct sentences he told her all she needed to know to deal with what had occurred. When he had finished, Caitlyn's face was as red as a tomato and a tinge of pink just tinted his cheekbones. Caitlyn could hardly look at him as he got to his feet, his height overpowering in the small room, but she did manage a quick upward glance.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible. He stood looking down at her for a moment.
"You have something more to be thankful for, you know." His arms crossed over his chest. She dared another look at him to discover that the pink tinge had faded from his cheeks. He appeared as composed as ever, if anything a litde stem, and that helped her recover her own composure.
'What?"
"You've been saved a good hiding. One that was richly deserved, I might add."
"Oh." In her embarrassment, she'd nearly forgotten about her foolishness over Fharannain. He'd been furious, and she had no doubt that she would have felt his hand on her backside again if fate had not intervened. Which was something to be thankful for, at that.
"I'm sorry," she offered. " 'Twas a mistake to try to ride Fharannain, I know. I won't do such a thing again."
"Well." The handsome apology took the wind from his sails. He stood eyeing her, his arms still crossed over his chest, his booted feet planted slightly apart on the bare plank floor. With his head tilted a litde to one side, he looked very handsome and very male. Caitlyn could quite understand why Mrs. Congreve should drive herself clear from the next county to call on him. "And no more breeches, mind," he added, clearly determined to be admonishing.
Caitlyn suddenly looked him full in the eyes, a mischievous smde lighting her face.
"I'll make a bargain with you," she said, her embarrassment forgotten in the excitement of her idea.
"A bargain?" He sounded wary. Those aqua eyes narrowed on her face.
"I'll stick to dratted skirts if you'll teach me to ride. A deal?" Hope sparkled in her eyes. Connor grinned slowly as he gazed down at her, shaking his head.
"YouVe the gall of the devil about you, Caitlyn O'Malley. Very well. 'Tis a deal."
XI
True to his word, Connor taught her to ride. He had no lady's saddle, which forced her to learn to ride astride, but he vowed to rectify the omission on his next trip to Dublin. In the meantime, she was allowed to wear breeches for that one short session a day. Even though they might spend as long as an hour at it, the time seemed short to her. Caitlyn found she loved being on horseback. And she loved Connor's undivided attention even more.
"You're a natural," Connor said with admiration as he watched her circle the meadow alone at the end of her very first lesson. For her efforts, he had chosen a rotund pinto mare named Belinda. Caitlyn soon mastered the essentials, and after that it was just a matter of refining her technique. Connor assumed an advisory capacity merely, riding along with her at a sedate pace as she explored the countryside. If he was not available, one of the three younger d'Arcys would keep an eye on her, although there was much bickering, particularly when Cormac accompanied her on the rides. She did not bicker with Connor, whose company she much preferred. She had developed a respect for him that verged on hero worship, and her rides with him were the
highlight of her days.
She had, reluctantly and at Connor's insistence, agreed to help Mrs. McFee in the house in the morning in exchange for being allowed to do outdoor chores in the afternoon. Working under the supervision of Rory or Mickeen, who were in charge of the daily care of the sheep, she became a better than adequate shepherd after learning that the silly creatures feared her more than she feared them. Sometimes she went with Cormac when he oversaw the peasants cutting the peat that fueled the fires and fed the animals come winter, and when Cormac picked up a scythe to help out, so did she. She was strong for her size and acquitted herself quite creditably in their cutting forays. Or, if the weather was bad, she would retire to the office with Liam or Connor, where she learned to keep the farm's books. What she disliked most was helping at the slaughtering, which was necessary from time to time if they were to have meat for the table and to cull the herd. But fair was fair, and if all the d'Arcys took a hand according to whoever was available, then she would not shirk. After a time, her stomach stopped threatening to disgrace her, and she was able to be as businesslike about it as they.
Connor traveled to Dublin about once every two months to pick up supplies, mail, and whatever else was needed, sometimes loading a sheep or two on the cart to sell. As he had threatened, on his first trip since Caitlyn learned to ride he returned with a lady's saddle. She wanted to protest but thought better of it. Connor had said she must learn to ride sidesaddle if she wished to ride, and she had no wish to quarrel with him over a matter that he would certainly not concede. So she had to transfer all she had learned to the sidesaddle, draping her legs over the hom as best she could and thinking that being a female was nothing but botheration. Skirts were the very devil, and she was likely to break her neck in them one way or another! But soon she could ride sidesaddle as well as astride, and Connor began allowing her to accompany him as he went about his business on the farm.
Some four months after Connor had first offered her "honest employment," she was riding with him along the stone walls that bounded the property, checking to see where repairs were needed. It was just past noon on a lovely August day, and lush rhododendrons bloomed in riotous color along the stone wall. Connor had dismounted to repair a tumbledown place in the wall, replacing the stones himself rather than send workers to do it another day. Caitlyn had tried to help him, only to be told brusquely that she was more hindrance than help. She smiled to herself; if she had been one of his brothers or another of the men he would have put her to work with a vengeance, but Connor rarely lost sight of the fact that she was a lass, although the others often did and she did most of the time herself.
Caitlyn strolled along the wall, admiring the crimson and bright pink and white of the massed flowers and pausing occasionally to inhale their heady fragrance. There was a tinkling stream in a grove of scrub pine at the bottom of the meadow. Heading for that-she was hot and wanted a drink-Caitlyn again smiled to herself. Her life had certainly undergone a drastic change in the past few months. Not only had she acquired a home and security, but the d'Arcys seemed almost like family to her now. They had certainly been far kinder to her than she had ever expected that first day when Connor had carried her kicking and screaming up the stairs to throw her on the bed. While Cormac and Rory might tease, Liam might scold, and Connor was subject to the occasional thunderous rage, she was not the least bit afraid of any of the four of them. Not one had ever made the slightest move to harm her in any way, and she knew now that they never would. They were good men, these d'Arcys, kinder and more moral than any she had ever known…
"Hello, little girl. And what are you doing on my property?"
Caitlyn had been so lost in thought that she hadn't even noticed the man who stood at the edge of the copse, perhaps ten feet away from where she was herself. Knowing that Connor was within easy hailing distance, she felt no fear but looked at him curiously. He cradled a musket in his arms, and from his apparel and the dead grouse that hung from a strap at his waist, she knew he had been shooting. He was perhaps in his mid-forties, thin rather than lean, and tall, with thinning fair hair and light gray ryrs His complexion was pale, nearly as white as her own. His features were regular, and although he was not precisely handsome, he was not unattractive. She smiled at him, and his eyes widened, then narrowed on her face
"Who are you?" he asked on a different note.
Caitlyn told him her name, then: "Who are you?"
"Sir Edward Dunne. You're on my land." He indicated the ground she was standing on with a sweep of the musket.
"I thought this was d'Arcy land."
He shook his head. "The stream marks the boundary. When you stepped across it, you came onto my land. Do you live at Donoughmore, then?"
Caitlyn nodded. She would have said more, seeing no reason not to, when Connor spoke sharply from behind her.
"Aye, she lives at Donoughmore. In the house, to be precise. She is our young cousin, newly orphaned and come to make her home with us."
Caitlyn digested that, wondering at the purpose of the He, and tried not to look surprised. She was perfectly willing to go along with whatever tale Connor told, though she was glad he had arrived when he did or she would have said something very different. The truth, in fact.
Sir Edward's eyebrows went up. "You are to be congratulated, d'Arcy, on acquiring such a… cousin. She bids fair to be a right litde beauty when she is full grown " There was an undertone of animosity to the words that Caitlyn did not understand.
"She has my full protection, Sir Edward." Connor's voice was hard in reply. Caitlyn looked around at him questioningly. Clearly there was bad feeling between these two. Connor was returning Sir Edward's mocking look with a knife-edged one of his own, his jaw very grim.
"And rejoices in it, I am sure." Sir Edward's response was smooth as silk. Caitlyn could not fathom the cause of the undercurrents at play in the conversation, but instinct sent her stepping back across the stream, closer to Connor. He looked down at her, unsmiling, his hands coming up briefly to rest on her shoulders.
"We'll be on our way. Good day, Sir Edward." Connor was abrupt.
"Good day, d'Arcy. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, my dear Miss O'Malley. Oh, ah… by the by, has dear Meredith had the pleasure of meeting your young… ah, cousin yet, d'Arcy?"
"Not yet," Connor replied tightly, his hands dropping from Caitlyn's shoulders. One closed over her arm, drawing her back the way they had come.
"I shall take pleasure in informing her of the newest addition to your family," Sir Edward called after them, laughing. Then they were up in the open meadow again, and Sir Edward was separated from them by the trees.
After a sideways look at Connor's grim face, Caitlyn remained silent until he had tossed her up in the saddle and mounted himself, heading back in the direction of Donoughmore. Then she ventured, "Who is he?" She nearly added, "Connor," but bit it back. Although she called Cormac, Rory, and Liam by their first names, as did everyone at the farm, she felt funny being so familiar with Connor. Except by his brothers, he was universally addressed as "your lordship." Only she felt funny saying that too, so usually she called him nothing at all to his face, and Connor in her mind.
"Sir Edward Dunne. He owns Ballymara, the property bordering Donoughmore on the north."
That told her almost nothing, and from the grim set of Connor's mouth there was a great deal more to be told, so she persisted.
"Why did you tell him I was your cousin?"
Those aqua eyes swung around to her. "He's a bad man for a young lass to know, especially a young serving lass. He thinks nothing of taking his pleasure where he can, whether the lass is willing or no. By claiming you as my cousin, I at least made him think twice about taking you out of hand the first time he comes across you unprotected."
His eyes were so filled with turbulence that Caitlyn let the subject drop. But when Connor had returned her to the stable, taking off alone on Fharranain like the devil was on his heels, she wasted not a minute in
corralling Cormac, who was halfheartedly forcing a potion down the mouth of a sick sheep in the sheep bam.
"Cormac, what can you tell me about Sir Edward Dunne?" she demanded without preliminaries. Cormac barely glanced up. The sheep he straddled was whipping its head about like a snake as he worked to force the yellowish liquid down its throat. From the wet yellowish splotches that liberally adorned his clothes, it was obvious that he had been trying for some time, without success.
"Sit on the bloody beast's head, would you?" he growled. Then, as the sheep lifted a cloven hoof and caught him squarely in the shin, he winced, cursed, and muttered with pent-up passion, "I hate bloody sheep!"
Caitlyn did as he asked, planting her bottom on the sheep's neck and straddling its head with her knees. In this way Cormac finally managed to pour most of the foul- smelling potion down the animal's gullet, then straightened and wiped his forehead with relief. Caitlyn got to her feet, and Cormac quickly jumped away from the sheep, which had begun to bawl. It scrambled to its feet and scurried to the far side of the stall. Cormac exited the stall, and Caitlyn followed him.
"Cormac, tell me about Sir Edward Dunne!" she insisted as he leaned against the outside of the closed stall door for a moment and gazed malevolendy at the baa-ing sheep.
This time she got his attention. "So you ran into Sir Edward, did you? Not on your own, I trust?"
She shook her head. "Connor was with me. They didn't seem to like one another overmuch."
Cormac snorted. "Connor hates Sir Edward, and I don't imagine Sir Edward is any fonder of Connor. Sir Edward thought to acquire Donoughmore, you see, when our father died, as the Penal Laws prohibit Catholics from inheriting land. He even made an offer for the property to the Crown. But what Sir Edward had not counted on was that my father raised Connor a Protestant to prevent just such an eventuality. Connor had merely to prove that he was not a Catholic, and he did so. So Connor was allowed to inherit after all."
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