The Eden Tree

by Doreen Owens Malek

  There was no applause for this performance. The villagers remained in stunned silence. Linn looked at Kate Costello; she was staring ahead at a point in space, unable to meet Linn’s eyes. Linn felt a stab of triumph. You can’t pull that number on me, sweetheart, Linn thought. You see what you’ll get for it. Linn had taken a situation earmarked for defeat and turned it into victory.

  She did not feel particularly victorious, however. She was trembling from head to foot and, as she walked away from the crowd and into the field, was beginning to realize what she had done. If the people in town had been in any doubt about her feelings for Con they speculated no longer. Skywriting would have been as subtle as her torch song. She leaned against a tombstone and pressed her cold hands to her burning face. You’ve done it this time, Linny, she thought. She was embarrassed, chagrined, and yet proud in the same moment. She would doubtless be drowned in tears of mortification at her own behavior in the morning, but the impression that overpowered all the others was the desire in Con’s eyes. He had wanted her, right there in front of everybody, and he hadn’t been ashamed to show it.

  Bridie stepped into her path. “You’re coming with me,” she stated in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ve already told Seaneen we’re taking you home.”

  “Bridie...”

  “Be still. He didn’t object, poor boy; but then how could he, after that spectacle you just made of yourself? Saints preserve us, what a night.”

  She was dragging Linn by the hand toward the road. Linn noticed Sean’s lightning transition from “blatherskite” to “poor boy” but decided not to mention it. No one had ever accused Bridie of being consistent.

  “You were the one who told me to go after Con,” she said meekly to Bridie, who was now flagging down her husband.

  Bridie turned on her. “I said to go after him, not assault him in public. And him undressing you with his eyes the whole time. I’ve never seen the like of it. Father Daly watched the entire thing; I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack.”

  “You heard what Kate said. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Sing ‘God Bless America’ or ‘Home on the Range.’ I’ll tell you one thing true: Dermot Pierce is revolving in his grave this night.”

  “Come off it, Bridie. I didn’t do a striptease. All I did was sing.”

  “Holy mother. All you did was sing indeed. That lad was one blink away from tossing you over his shoulder and well you know it.” She addressed her husband. “Jack, go and get Terry to take Miss Pierce home, will you? I can’t find that boy anywhere.”

  Mr. Cleary went to search. “Why couldn’t I go home with Sean?” Linn asked reasonably.

  “Are you daft, girl? I was trying to spare you both that painful trip. Can you imagine how he feels?”

  Linn imagined it and felt pretty bad herself. An apology to Sean was definitely in order. Linn kept her eyes down, feeling crestfallen.

  They were standing waiting for Terry when Father Daly walked past. He looked at Linn with an odd expression; he showed not the disapproval she’d expected, but alarm, almost fear. It shook her, and she stood in thoughtful silence until Terry roared up on his bike.

  “Go on now,” Bridie said to her. “Get yourself home.”

  Linn paused, looking at the older woman. “Bridie, do you know where Con went? I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

  “He’s crawled into a hole if he has any shame. Now will you forget that lad and go home to bed?”

  Linn stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  Bridie sighed. “He left when you did and I haven’t seen him since. Be off with you.”

  Linn climbed on behind Terry and he shot off down the road.

  All the way back to Ildathach she replayed the scene with Con in her mind. Bridie was right; it must have looked bad to the people watching her. Linn had been so caught up in the man and the moment that she had disregarded everything else.

  Terry stopped in front of the house and watched Linn as she disembarked. “Shall I come in for a while?” he asked.

  Linn glanced at him sharply. “What?”

  “I thought you might be wanting some company.”

  Linn sagged against the stone balustrade, dumbfounded. This teenage lothario had witnessed her performance with Con and it had given him ideas about his passenger. She wanted to smack him.

  “Now you listen to me, sonny. I know what you saw tonight, but that was a very special situation with a very special man. I have no interest in you or anybody else. Go home and drink your milk, and if you’re a nice little boy I may not tell your mother about this. Do you get my drift?”

  Terry got her drift. Undaunted, he flashed her another thousand watt smile and gunned his motor, sailing forth into the night in search of easier game.

  Linn let herself into the house, profoundly depressed. Terry’s reaction painted all too clear a picture of the effect her behavior had created. While it could be argued that Terry required only minimal encouragement, it was still plain that she had given the impression she was some sort of femme fatale. Nothing could be further from the truth. She just wanted Con so badly that she forgot everything else in his presence. While she had been singing to him she hadn’t even remembered that the others were there.

  Linn trudged wearily into the bathroom and headed for the tub. It was laughable, in a way. The Ice Princess who’d been running from men for five years was now regarded as a shameless temptress, the Delilah of County Clare. It could only happen to Aislinn Pierce.

  Ned was asleep in the bathtub. He blinked groggily as Linn lifted him and transported him to the bed, where he stretched out, rolled over and conked out again.

  As Linn passed the dresser she saw the letter she had received from her godmother, Karen Walker, who’d been her mother’s best friend. When Linn’s mother died in childbirth, Karen had stepped in as unofficial aunt and quasi stepmother, serving as Linn’s adviser and friend all her life. The letter was chatty and full of news of home, but in Linn’s current emotional state it had seemed frivolous. She longed to call Karen and tell her what was happening, but it was hardly the subject for a transatlantic phone call. Linn sighed and reminded herself to answer the letter in the morning. She would say something bright and cheerful that would successfully conceal the true state of her beleaguered heart.

  She returned to the tub and turned on the taps. This antique was one of the few original appointments in the house that Linn liked. Most of the other fixtures were out-of-date and hopelessly inefficient, but the tub, deep and wide, afforded the opportunity for a good soak and ample reflection. You practically needed a ladder to climb into it, but Linn made do with standing on a footstool. She stripped and sprinkled bath salts liberally over the water and under the gushing flow from the taps. The powder foamed like the crest of a wave, enriching the air with its delicate scent. Linn waited for the tub to fill, remembering that Con had liked this blend of aromatics. “I could find you in the dark, my lady.” She closed her eyes, the pleasant smelling steam rising about her, reminding her of that night at Cool Na Grena. Con’s mouth had been so hot, and his touch so deft, so skilled, reducing her to a river of sensation. She sobbed in frustration and swayed, gripping the edge of the tub. This would never, never do. She climbed into the tub and sank into the warm water, letting the bubbles rise to her chin. Through the small window set above the vanity she could see the rising moon. She looked at it and wondered, as she often did, what Con was doing right then.

  Would he walk tonight? Would he be restless and tormented, unable to sleep, as Linn certainly was?

  Linn sat bolt upright, creating a swell that cascaded onto the floor. He would be in the glen tonight. She was certain of it, in a secret part of herself that knew things by intuition and not by reason. He would be drawn there by the memory of a barefoot girl in a dressing gown, the same girl who had kissed him in front of the townspeople at the end of her song.

  Linn’s heart began to pound. She rinsed off quickly and stepped from the
tub, drying on the curious Irish towels that felt like lint free dishcloths, flat and ribbed. She padded to the open shutters and looked out across the fields.

  Was he there or on his way? Could she be so wrong? Maybe. But she knew she had to find out soon.

  Her mind made up, Linn went to the closet and took out a thin robe of Chinese silk, a gift from her father on her last birthday. It was a lovely salmon color, exquisitely made, just the thing she wanted. She slipped it on over her naked body and belted it at the waist.

  She picked up her hairbrush with trembling fingers and drew it methodically through her hair. One part of her couldn’t believe what she was doing, preparing to meet a lover who might not even keep the unplanned rendezvous, but another part accepted her actions as perfectly sane. If she knew her man—and she thought she did—he would be there.

  Linn picked up her cologne bottle and splashed some of the fragrant liquid on her wrists and throat. The crystal flagon flew out of her hands and smashed on the floor. She sighed, pressing her fingertips to her temples. Calm, calm, she had to be calm. But the thought of what might await her sent her blood pulsing like a torrent through her veins. She glanced at the night sky visible beyond the wooden louvers and picked out a star. A half forgotten rhyme from childhood surfaced in her mind. She recited it to herself, concluding with, “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

  Then she squared her shoulders and strode from the room.

  * * * *

  Con flung himself off the bed and stood up, wincing slightly as he felt a stitch in his thigh. The leg had healed quickly and well. Most of the time he forgot about it, except when a sudden move or a quick turn in the wrong direction produced a twinge to remind him. He straightened and shook it out, bending his leg at the knee. As good as new.

  Would that he could say the same about his state of mind. He had given Kate the bum’s rush, depositing her on her doorstep in town and taking off without a word. She had tried to do an unkind thing to Aislinn and he couldn’t forgive her for it. Cattiness in women disgusted him.

  He took the scarf from his neck and held it to his nose, inhaling the heady mixture of Linn’s perfume and her own warm, feminine scent. Then he wadded it into a ball and threw it on the floor. Damn the woman, she was tying him up in knots. If she was staying in Bally then he would have to go. He couldn’t take any more of this. The raw hunger for her was gnawing at his guts, making him distracted and useless at work. He was getting pointed inquiries from his editor about his manuscript, long overdue and going nowhere. The last chapter was incomprehensible; it read like jabberwocky nonsense. And all because of that sweet faced, amber haired American whose kiss still lingered on his lips. He groaned and thrust his hands through his hair.

  He would go up to the house and show her who was boss. He would force the door if he had to, and then he would…

  Con kicked the bedpost. He didn’t want that; he didn’t want to press her in any way. He wanted her willing and eager, clinging to him, fitted to him like a glove. He wanted her as on fire for him as he was for her. He wanted her to love him.

  He swallowed hard and licked his dry lips. Perspiration beaded his forehead as he thought about her song at the Fleadh. He saw again the beckoning look in her wide dark eyes, the light teasing touch of her soft mouth, the way she had melted against him when he drew her into his arms. She had seemed to want him then...but if so, why had she left him the morning Neil had paid his call? Why hadn’t she been back since? Why, in short, was she dangling him on the end of this intolerable, agonizing string?

  If he went to the house he risked being rebuffed again. Another rejection from her would ruin him. His eyes moved to the open door of the cottage. But if he went out to the glen and waited, maybe, just maybe, she would come.

  Con pulled his sweatshirt over his head and tossed it on a chair. He wouldn’t sleep tonight; he might as well keep watch, and remember, and hope. He took a broadcloth shirt from a hanger and slipped into it, leaving it unbuttoned in his haste.

  On his way out the door he bent and picked up her scarf, putting it in his pocket.

  * * * *

  Linn stepped from the screen of trees, her heart pounding, and scanned the field before her.

  The glen was empty.

  Linn swallowed disappointment like a bitter medicine. Had she been sure or just fervently hopeful? She shook her head, biting her lower lip to forestall tears. When was she going to grow up and learn that wishing didn’t make it so? What had made her think for a moment that there was some sort of mystical communication between them, that she would want him and he would know? Slowly, sorrowfully, she turned back to the house.

  Con came around the side of the large oak that bordered the property, retracing the same path he’d already paced many times that night. In the distance a figure clad in peach silk with bright, loose hair was walking away from him.

  Con dropped the scythe he was carrying and began to run.

  Chapter 7

  Con didn’t feel his injured leg at all and it didn’t slow him; he ran like the wind, his feet as light as his heart. She had come to him. She had come to him after all.

  He caught Linn in several steps. She halted when she heard him behind her, and in the next instant his arms closed about her, pressing her back against him.

  “I knew you’d be here,” she whispered.

  “I wished that you would come,” he replied.

  Linn relaxed into him with a luxurious sigh, reveling in the hard warmth of his body, the feel of his bare chest against her back through the thin robe. Con drew his hands up from her waist and cupped her breasts in his palms. Linn quivered with delight, raising her arms and locking her hands behind his neck, stretching along the powerful length of him like a cat. The abandoned sensuality of the gesture inflamed Con beyond control; he gripped her hips tightly and pulled her against him, letting her feel his arousal. Linn moaned as his lips moved through her hair and found her neck, covering her nape and exposed shoulders with kisses. His mouth was moist, hot, everywhere, sending shivers rippling down her spine, making her knees so weak she needed his support to stand.

  Con spun her around in his arms and she waited longingly for his kiss. Instead he held her with one arm and, brushing aside her robe, bent his head and took a nipple between his lips. The sudden, unexpected sensation was unbearably erotic; Linn lay back in the curve of his muscular forearm, her hair trailing almost to the ground, as he laved first one ripe bud and then the other with his tongue. He sucked and nibbled, caressing her tender flesh until she was stimulated to an exquisite, aching sensitivity. Then he straightened suddenly, embracing her, cradling her as if she were the most precious treasure in his world.

  “I love you, Aislinn,” he said, his deep voice hoarse with emotion. “I was lost from the moment I saw you.”

  Linn closed her eyes in absolute relief, absolute happiness. This was what she’d been waiting all her life to hear. But a tiny doubt remained. “And my father?” she said faintly, clutching him, afraid to remind him and yet afraid to let it pass.

  “I don’t care,” he said fiercely, tightening his arms around her. “I can’t make myself care anymore. All I can see and all I can think about is you.”

  Linn raised her head to look at him and saw the truth of it in his face. The past was forgotten; it really didn’t matter to him any longer. She put her hand up to touch his cheek.

  Con turned her toward the cottage. “Come inside,” he whispered, his eyes brilliant in the shadows. “I’ll not let you get away again.”

  “No,” Linn said, resisting. “I want it to be here, where it all began.”

  Con sucked in his breath sharply. “You’ll stay with me, then?” he asked, as still as a statue.

  “Yes, darling, yes. Don’t you know by now I want you just as much as you want me?”

  “That isn’t possible,” he muttered as his lips crushed hers, his tongue probing deeply, his hands drawing the silken robe down her arms. It fe
ll to her waist where it was held in place by the knotted belt. He worked the tie loose with one hand while he slid the other through the fold, caressing the softness of her belly, her thighs, until she trembled with heightened awareness. She sighed, unable to believe she could be so eager for the touch of rough, work hardened fingers on her skin. His hand searched, probing, and she gasped against his mouth as the kimono slipped unnoticed to the grass.

  Con picked her up in one smooth movement and lowered her to the ground, spreading her robe beneath her and setting her gently on this makeshift blanket. He paused to shrug out of his shirt and then flung himself down beside her, gathering her to him instantly.

  “I will be gentle,” he said shakily, as if instructing himself to maintain control. He shuddered as she explored the broad expanse of his chest, planting a row of kisses along his collarbone, then tonguing his nipples in tantalizing imitation of what he had done to her. Con clenched his teeth and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. “But it won’t be easy,” he added,gasping.

  Linn molded her body to his big frame, winding her arms around his neck. In her own wonder, her own delicious discovery, she was only half aware of his agonized response to her slightest movement. He was still wearing his jeans but she felt him as if he were naked, powerful and ready between her thighs. She sat up and moved astride him, and his hands slipped down her back and cupped her buttocks, guiding her. His eyes closed and his lips compressed, his chest heaving, and Linn was thrilled at her ability to please him. When his lashes lifted she arched her back and rocked, her breasts lifting as she saw his reaction to the picture she made.

  “Enough!” he ground out, pulling her down to him and reversing their positions so quickly she lost her breath. He stretched her arms above her head and pinned her, moving over her and kissing her until she was unconsciously wrapping her legs around his hips, asking without words for the fulfillment he could give. When he finally released her to stand and remove his pants she never took her eyes from his, holding out her arms to welcome him back.