“Sorry about the fog, my lady,” Niall said. He smiled broadly though, and she doubted he spoke the truth as he shot a glance at Sean. “It should clear off tomorrow—or next week.”
“Next week?” The thought of staying here a week now that she had accepted his demand was intolerable. “Surely—“
“My cousin is teasing you,” Sean reassured her, with a dark look at Niall. “The fog should be burned off tomorrow in time for you to make it to the coast.
“Fog or no, you’ll not go.” Bridget spoke softly, without looking at Kate, so for a moment she wasn’t certain the girl even addressed her. And then the oddly piercing green-eyed gaze lifted and caught hers. “You’re meant to be here. The fairies say so.”
“Bridget—“ Sean’s voice carried a warning note, but the girl did not heed it.
“I asked them this morning, Sean. The fairies don’t lie. They told me a beautiful woman would bring a whirlwind of troubles that will sweep our house clean.” Bridget turned to Kate and smiled with sweet innocence. “It’s not your fault you brought the trouble. You couldn’t help it. The fairies don’t blame you.”
He glanced at Kate briefly, and she thought she saw defeat in his eyes as he smiled at his sister. “The fairies said our harvest would be good last fall, too.”
Bridget frowned, and repeated, “They don’t lie. But they were mad because you didn’t remember to put out the corn for them like you promised.”
Sean, for a moment, seemed to want to argue, and then his expression smoothed away and he said gently, “I know Bridget. The fairies wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Of course they wouldn’t.”
He teased, “And I’m certain they’ll see to it that you get the baby in your slice of cake this year, as you do every year.”
Bridget, distracted as her brother had obviously meant her to be, asked “When shall we have the cake, Sean?”
Kate wanted to ask what was wrong with the girl, but she could not be rude and speak in front of Bridget as if she were not present. However, she did not want to be alone with Sean. Cowardly, she knew, but Niall and Bridget were safer companions than her husband right now.
She’d thought she finally understood why he had not returned to England. But now, thinking of how he had rushed away because Bridget was sick, she wondered if there was more to the story than he wanted her to know. If she drew him aside, she could ask him privately. But the thought frightened her. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers this morning. The heat of his breath on her cheek. The scent of his aftershave. No. She didn’t want to be alone with him if she could avoid it.
“Are you thinking of your own family?” Niall asked her quietly. “They are a much livelier bunch than we.”
“They may be livelier, but we are strong,” Sean answered sharply.
“Mama and Papa are here, Niall,” Bridget chided softly. “We simply cannot see them.” She turned to Kate. “Our Mama was blown away by the Big Wind and smashed against a chimney far away. But not before she tucked me safely in a fairy hole.”
“My mother and father were lost in a snowstorm,” Kate confided. “But they left my sisters and I safe in the care of my oldest brother and sister.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Five. And one brother.” Kate thought of her own large, loving family, no doubt gathered at a similar dinner. “And so many nieces and nephews that I can hardly count them.”
Bridget glanced at Sean. “I would like a niece or nephew to love.” She glanced back at Kate with complete sincerity. “You are his wife, can you not get him to give you a child? Perhaps I shall ask the fairies.”
Kate had no answer to give. A flush of shock suffused her, only made worse by Niall’s choked splutter of laughter. He did, however, manage to offer a diversion, “It is time for a game of cards, I think.”
Bridget leapt up for the cards, forgetting the conversation of a moment before, thankfully. “I shall beat you, Niall. I have grown skilled since we last played.”
“Kate is no poor hand at cards, girl. Watch your predictions until we have tested our guest’s mettle.”
“What do you play?” Kate asked politely. Speaking of home had made her think of what she missed. The duke and duchess would even now preside over a houseful of relatives. No doubt Valentine and Emily and their sons would be there, as well as Helena, her husband Rand and their son.
“Maw is the game for us,” Niall said cheerfully. He had been equally cheerful when he spent the Christmas in England, she realized. Had he missed his own small family and simply hidden it from her? Had Sean?
“As you like, then.” She rose and went to join them at the small inlaid card table by the fire. Each year seemed to bring more empty places to the duke’s table, though.
Juliet, with R.J. and little Will had gone to Italy this year, to see a Christmas performance by an opera student Juliet had sponsored. Betsey’s seat would not be filled this year, for the first time since Kate could remember. She had left for America at the same time Kate left for Ireland.
She wondered if Betsey’s new husband would allow Kate to visit? Perhaps she would do so, once she was divorced. America had been good for Ros, perhaps it was Kate’s future, too.
Husbands had entirely too much power over their wives. It was not fair. The laws should be changed. She looked at her husband, remembering the feel of him pressed against her.
She wished she’d never come. She wished she’d just read his letters and believed his lies, no matter the pitying glances from family and friends. No matter that he would never visit her in the flesh, only in pretty words and dreams.
She’d rather have the pretty words than this awful truth. If she were home she could read his newest letter just as they read the letters from Betsey and Ros that Miranda would put out on dinner plates at the table.
If she were home they would take turns reading them aloud and reminiscing. That was what Twelfth Night was for at home. What was it for here?
The celebration here was quiet, unlike the loud one, full of games and gifts at home. She felt restless, as if she should offer to do something, but she did not know what.
“Would you care for a game of whist instead of maw?” Niall asked, as if he understood where her restlessness came from. After all, he’d spent the last few holidays at her home.
“No. I should prefer Maw. I am in your home this year, not mine.”
Bridget said softly, “If you are Sean’s wife, this is your home.”
“Of course, Bridget. You are right. How silly of me.” She could see Sean frown, but she did not care.
So they played Maw and Kate learned fast and played hard so that in the quiet hush their laughter stood out more than it might have amidst the hustle and bustle of her usual family holiday.
Bridget, for some reason, carried around the tiny carved figure of the Christ Child from the cake, which had indeed been in her slice. Somehow, though, Kate suspected that Sean, not the fairies, had arranged that piece of magic.
Up close, Kate realized how ridiculous it was that she had considered Bridget to be Sean’s mistress. Though nearly a woman grown, she had the mind of a child. Fey might be the kindest word possible for a girl like her.
She had given the tiny figure a place of honor as they played, asking it questions and patting it when it answered in a voice only she could hear. Niall did not object, although he had refused to deal cards to the figure, no matter how Bridget pleaded.
Kate glanced at Sean, who seemed unconcerned by this bizarre behavior. His glance shifted away, and she realized hotly that he had been watching her.
She turned back to the game, embarrassed that he had caught her glancing at him. Humiliated that he had not wanted to catch her glance, even for a brief smile or a raise of his eyebrows in acknowledgement of her presence. Did he truly think her so useless and shallow?
“It is your turn,” Bridget said impatiently.
Kate glanced down at the table, trying to reca
ll where they were. What she was supposed to do.
“Do you want to hold it?” Bridget asked, thrusting the child into her palm without waiting for an answer. “It will give you good luck.”
“How sweet,” Kate murmured, unsure what to do that would not offend the fragile looking girl.
“Why do you think that Sean will not give you a baby?” Bridget looked at her innocently. “Don’t you want one?”
Kate was not prepared for the maelstrom of emotions that engulfed her. Children. She had watched her sisters give birth, held her nephews and her nieces, laughed and dreamed of motherhood. She had imagined children with their father’s dimple and his green eyes.
But now. She glanced at Sean, remembering the feel of him against her. He had meant his threat to scare her away. And it had. But perhaps she should not have let it.
She had demanded a favor of him, not even knowing what she wanted from him. But now she did.
She smiled at Bridget as she smoothed one finger down the carved wooden cheek of the infant Jesus. “Yes, Bridget. I do want a child. Very much.” The ache was always there, but she tried to tamp it down, as she must. One needed a husband to have a child. And it appeared that, despite the marriage, she had not truly acquired a husband.
The girl lifted the figure from Kate’s fingers and held it to her ear, listening intently before she smiled and nodded her head. “Good. Then I shall ask the fairies to give you one, since Sean will not.”
Niall had been valiantly fighting his urge to laugh, but at that he sighed loudly. “Are we to play cards, ladies, or speak of foolish things?”
“It is not foolish to wish for Sean to have a baby. Especially now that I know he has a wife.” Bridget smiled at her uncle indulgently before turning her gaze on Kate again. “He loves you.”
“Enough prattle, Bridget,” Sean said suddenly. The glass of whiskey that he had held tightly for much of the day lifted in the air. “These are not matters for your ears, or your tongue.”
“But—“
“Shall I send you to your room?” Sean stood and gestured to Niall. “Come, let us bring in some wood. Perhaps a roaring fire will cease my sister’s tongue from wagging.” The men left, Connor following behind, although he did not seem hale enough to carry much firewood.
“Still, he loves you.” Bridget whispered with a smile, her eyes far away. “I asked the fairies. They say he has been sighing for you since your wedding day.”
The fairies could not have been in the room with them, then, when he had offered to bed her without love, if they could tell the child such lies. “I think he’s been sighing over other things—but not me. He could have had me at any time. All he had to do was ask.”
As if to belie Kate’s conviction that Bridget thought like a child, the green eyes sharpened and the girl said, “Men aren’t really very good at asking, you know. Sean is quite bad at it.”
All at once, Kate remembered that this girl had been among the men last night. She shook away her preconceptions and asked bluntly, “What is he good at?”
Again, Bridget’s answer was sensible and lucid. “Taking care of his people.”
“Has he introduced his tenants to the most recent horticultural techniques, then? Found a way to make the land feed the people?”
“He’s not good at that.” Bridget fidgeted. “He is good at showing the English who is boss.”
“You must be careful not to do anything dangerous, you do know that, don’t you Bridget? I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”
The girl’s open expression shuttered closed. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Or to hurt you.”
He had already done all he could to hurt her, but Kate did not argue because just then Niall and Connor returned. She had a brother she adored and she knew she’d never believe anything bad about him without seeing it with her own eyes—and perhaps not even then.
Sean himself did not return, which seemed to lighten the mood of everyone else. She wondered if the discussion of children had bothered him as deeply as it had bothered her?
Kate played several more hands of Maw and found herself telling one of her sister’s fairy tales—Rapunzel, of all stories—to a rapt audience of Niall and Bridget. She had a smile on her face as she climbed the stairs to face her room, and the invisible Lady Dilys once again.
Sean obviously cared for his sister, since he had a maid trailing her all day long. What an exhausting job that must be, Kate thought, after having spent the day with the girl. With compassion, he had dismissed the maid to the kitchen for her own celebration. The poor girl had looked pleased to leave her charge in the sitting room among family. Kate expected she didn’t get much of an opportunity to rest if her job was to follow Bridget everywhere the girl wandered.
Which only made it worse that Sean would let such a creature out at night, exposed to danger she could not possibly understand. She decided to speak to him, though she didn’t expect her words to do much good. He ought not risk his sister in his illegal activities.
What kind of father would he be to a child of his own if he were so careless of his sister? Still, Bridget’s suggestion burned inside her. Would it matter if he had no desire to be a father, as long as she vowed to be a good mother?
One thing was certain, she wanted a child. And he wanted a divorce. He’d offered to bed her, without undue enthusiasm, but not with any particular distaste. Other men found her attractive enough—she’d even had opportunities to take lovers, but she had not. In this way, they could both have what they wanted.
Perhaps she should agree, despite his humiliating lack of enthusiasm for the idea. He’d said nothing about children, but since that was a natural result of such actions, he had to have been willing to accept such consequences. Hadn’t he? Or had she had too much wine?
Kate considered fancifully whether she should ask Lady Dilys’s opinion? Hadn’t that lady met her unhappy end in childbirth? The thought sent Kate into a plunge of doubt. Perhaps she should reconsider. At the very least sleep on the matter before she brought it to Sean tomorrow.
Tomorrow. She was to leave, unless the fog had still not cleared. She’d have to pray for fog. Or, better yet, a good howling storm that would trap them all inside—no one able to travel. No one able to risk his life in the dark of night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dawn brought fog again. And a swift shower of icy rain that made the roads and pathways impassable. He could not in good conscience send her on her way today. Sean was tempted to leave himself, despite the dangerous condition of the road.
He had not been comfortable in his own home yesterday, sharing a holiday with Kate. Or perhaps it was that he wished much too much that his life had taken a different turn five years ago. That he had been able to be a husband to Kate and keep Bridget safe.
Perhaps even make a real family, as he had planned to so long ago in London. He sighed. Despite what he had said, he had not forgotten that Twelfth Night was the anniversary of their marriage. Nor had he completely buried the dreams he’d had of a life with Kate. Bridget’s comments about babies had cut through him.
And now they were trapped together in the abbey for, at best, this entire day. He glanced down at the estate books spread out in front of him on the desk. He wasn’t certain he wanted to work all day on them. But perhaps it would save him from the betrayed glares of his wife, or the speculative glances of his cousin.
She had thrown everything off key with her presence. He had found it unbearable—and his cousin had enjoyed his discomfort. Niall had watched him with a half smirk of satisfaction all day.
He couldn’t blame his cousin for enjoying his distress, after all he’d brought it on himself. But he didn’t have to stay there like a goat shackled to a sacrificial stake. He had taken his leave after Bridget began to talk of babies. Even the whiskey couldn’t distance him from that pain. Niall had chided him for leaving.
He wondered if his cousin would ever forgive him for sending him away to look after Kate. Or for b
eing the one whose father had saved the king and won a title.
Unfortunately, he had only an hour’s peace before the knock came upon the door. He knew by the quiet rap that it was not Niall, Connor, or even Bridget who dared to interrupt his work.
Knowing that he would regret it, he called, “Enter.”
She had not dressed for traveling, so someone had told her about the weather. “Good morning.” Her words were innocuous enough, but her expression was not friendly.
He might have thought she was merely annoyed at any further delay, but she seemed less annoyed than frightened. In fact, he suspected that her hands were folded together to stop them from trembling visibly. What could she want now? “I’m sorry for the delay. This time of year the weather can be unpredictable.
“I’m glad for it, actually. We need to speak.”
He held up his hand. “Not about the divorce. I hope I have made it plain to you I will not change my mind.”
She shook her head, although there was a guilty flush on her cheek, which made him wonder if she had fully accepted the truth yet. “I must speak to you about your sister.”
Here so short a time and already meddling. “She is not your concern,” he said abruptly. No doubt she had the womanly urge to “fix” Bridget’s oddities—without any notion of what had caused them in the first place. She was not the first woman he had dealt with on this subject. As he always had, he would let Kate know he was not pleased with her interference and he would not encourage it in any fashion whatsoever.
She did not take his hint, nor did she sit down, but faced him across his desk. “She doesn’t seem to be your concern, either.” She was furious, he realized. If she’d been a man he’d have expected her to pound a fist down and shake the floor. “Do you want her to hang?”
Hang? What was she talking about? They would not hang a child for talking to the fairies. Had she found out about what had happened five years ago? “I would die first.”
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