Quinn's Deirdre

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “I haven’t liked Thanksgiving in years,” she told him. “It was another day to remind me I didn’t have a normal family, but it’s different now. I love you, Quinn, and your family, too.”

  “Even me sister?” His voice dropped low as he teased.

  “Yes, of course.” He nuzzled the side of her throat and her bones turned to sugar. His slightest touch roused her desire and now wasn’t the time or place. “Why don’t you take the kids and Neal upstairs to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade on TV?”

  “Ye’re not trying to run me away, are ye?”

  “If she’s not, lad, I am,” Desmond said. “If ye want dinner early this afternoon, let her be and go on. Go watch the telly or I’ll put ye to work. Ye may not be trained in the kitchen, but I’m thinkin’ ye can scrub pots like the rest of us.”

  “I’ll make me escape then.” Quinn cupped his hand beneath Deirdre’s chin and turned her so he could kiss her properly. “If ye need me, love, call me down.”

  “I will.”

  After he left, Neal and the children in tow, she, Eileen, and Desmond worked. Their easy camaraderie lifted her spirits and the enticing aromas wafting from the ovens awakened her appetite. She hadn’t thought she would anticipate the meal so much but Deirdre did.

  The warm kitchen served as a haven for the moment, the work of her hands provided a distraction from her worries. As she performed routine tasks, the diamonds sparkled on her ring, an ever present reminder of Quinn’s love and their commitment.

  Chapter Ten

  The remains of the feast littered the three tables in the front dining room that they’d pushed together for the meal. Little remained of the goose save bones, but there would be enough turkey and ham for leftovers. Nuala, Deirdre’s youngest, slept on a pallet of pillows and blankets Quinn had brought down, a thumb square in her mouth. Sorcha and Brendan attempted to play Old Maid with an ancient deck Demond produced but both yawned. The adults remained at the table, talking and complimenting the food although the conversation had gone from a flow to a trickle.

  Desmond rose and began gathering up the food and after a moment, Eileen stacked the dirty dishes onto a kitchen cart. After a glance from his wife, Neal collected the older children and headed upstairs to the flat. Moments later, Des and his niece rolled the leavings out to the kitchen. Deirdre picked up the discarded paper napkins and other trash, then searched for a wastebasket. She opened her mouth to ask Quinn where one might be found, then stopped short.

  Quinn stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on a framed ad for Harp Lager. He said nothing when the others cleared out and from the way he sat, hunched forward, Deirdre wondered if he had noticed everyone else had gone. He hadn’t spoken much during the latter part of the meal, she realized and although at first he’d eaten with gusto, he hadn’t taken seconds or had more than a single slice of pie. His dour expression radiated misery. “Quinn?”

  He blinked as if she’d awakened him. “Aye, love?”

  “Is something wrong? You’re awfully quiet.”

  When he raised his head to gaze in her direction, she noticed the worry line dividing his forehead and the tight set of his lips. “I’ve a bad feeling,” he said.

  “Did you eat too much?” she asked. Maybe he had and his belly was riled.

  “Ah, no, acushla, though ‘twas all quite tasty.” His flat tone set off alarm bells within her.

  In motherly fashion, Deirdre laid her hand across his forehead but it was warm, not fever hot. “Are you coming down with something? I know there’s some crud that’s been making the rounds.”

  “No, I’m not sick and I feel well enough. It’s more of the spirit than body.”

  Concern knifed her chest. “What’s the matter, Quinn? You’re scaring me.”

  Her voice roused him a bit more from his distracted reverie. “Ye don’t know, do ye?” he asked, his voice more normal than before. “It doesn’t happen to me often, but when it does, I’ve never known it to be wrong.”

  “Quinn, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She didn’t but maybe she had an idea, one she didn’t want to explore.

  “Sit down with me a moment and I’ll tell ye. Ye know I’ve told ye me mother has the sight, that she’s fey?”

  Deirdre remembered and nodded. “You did.”

  “My gift is nothing like hers. She has these intuitions often enough, both small and large. But on occasion, I have a bad feeling and when I do, it’s never good.”

  The more he tried to explained, the more worried she became. “Do you mean you have a premonition?”

  Quick as a flash, his lips curved upward for a moment in a smile which failed to form. “Aye, that’s it. It’s only happened to me a few times. The first ‘twas when I was but nine and my grandfather died. And when our Da passed. I had it terrible bad then. The year before I came to the States, I was in a bad car smash—”

  “I never knew that!”

  “Well, it’s not the kind of thing I like to remember or tell,” he said. “I broke my leg and busted my head. Ma thought I’d die for the first two days, but I didn’t. I had the same bad feeling then as now. And the same again when my brother Declan near drowned in the lough. Each time, something terrible came to pass. It’s odd, though, or I thought it ‘twas before. When you never came back from the mall three years ago and then I thought ye dead, I never had the feeling. I suppose now it’s because ye weren’t truly dead, thank God and all the saints. It bothered me, though, in a way, that I didn’t. I thought, then, maybe I’d lost the knack of it and was glad. But, no, now ‘tis back and it worries me fierce.”

  The anxiety she had shed returned and slammed into her consciousness with full force. If Quinn’s sixth sense was working enough overtime to make him so concerned, she figured she had reason enough to be frightened. “What do you think will happen?” she asked.

  His taut shoulders shrugged. “I’ve no idea, mo chroide and ‘tis what scares me most.”

  “Do you think the man I saw will come after me or report to someone who wants payback?”

  Quinn hesitated for a long moment. “I don’t know. It might be that or something else altogether. My sister and her family have a long journey home, I know. I’ve long had a horror of plane crashes or it might be something with Des. Or I could suffer some awful mishap. It’s the not knowing that’s the worst.”

  Deirdre’s imagination, always vivid, conjured up horrific images to match each thing he speculated and more. Mental images of burning airplanes falling from stormy skies, serious kitchen mishaps, Quinn lying broken and bloody in the wreckage of his vehicle rushed through her mind. She could think of a dozen more scenarios, several of which involved her and the hard faced man who’d threatened her before. A sudden chill seized her, harsh enough she shivered with it. Death haunted her thoughts, white-faced and skeletal. “What can we do?”

  “Naught but wait,” Quinn said. “Are ye cold? Ye’re shaking.”

  “I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Ye believe me, then?”

  She nodded. “I do, Quinn. I don’t have much experience with things like this, but I can see the truth of it in your eyes. It’s genuine and you’re scared, too.”

  “Bloody right, I am.” He came to his feet and thrust the chair behind him with enough force it toppled. Quinn enveloped her in his embrace and Deirdre rested her head against his chest. “Something will happen, I’m sure of it but whether or not it will be the worst, I don’t know.”

  “Is it always something bad?”

  He heaved a huge sigh. “It always has been, love, but I’ll do my best to keep ye safe, ye know that.”

  “I do but I want you safe too and all of us.” Her words marked the first time she’d lumped herself together with his family but once spoken, Deirdre realized it was so.

  “Don’t say a word about this to my sister,” Quinn warned. “She’ll worry herself into a frenzy if ye do. I wouldn’t mention it to Uncle Desmond either, unless he should ask, which I doubt. He’
s a man who knows well when to keep his mouth closed.”

  Deirdre raised her head and gazed into his ravaged face. “I won’t but don’t you think they’ll notice? You look like hell, Quinn.”

  Something between a snort and a dry laugh came from his mouth. “Do I? I wouldn’t mind a bit of a nap, but the flat’s full with the kiddies and all.”

  “I’m sure Des would let you use his room.”

  Quinn shook his head. “He might but no, I’d rather not. I’m desperate for a bit of fresh air to clear my head. Want to go for a ride?”

  A change of scene appealed but she hesitated. “Is it safe?”

  “Jaysus, woman, I don’t know what is and is not.”

  “We could take my car.”

  He frowned. “We’d have to get it from the parking garage and I’d rather not. I don’t like them places. In the films, it’s where the baddies wait to shoot the victims.”

  Point taken. “Then let’s go, but I’ll need my purse and coat.”

  “Fetch my jacket and keys, then would you? I’ll stop in the kitchen and say a word to Des that we’re goin’ out.”

  Despite the cold rain falling from a gray sky, Quinn headed for the outlying 435 loop and once there, he increased speed until they hurtled along and he exceeded the speed limit.

  “Quinn, slow down,” Deirdre shrieked. “What are you doing?”

  “Blowing away the cobwebs from me mind!”

  “I call it taking reckless chances. Slow down before you kill us or get a ticket.”

  “Ah, woman, hush. Whatever will happen won’t be today or I’d feel it in my bones. Enjoy the ride, eh?”

  Once, she’d taken risks and loved it. Then she watched an execution and lost her zeal for danger. In Arkansas, Deirdre had opted for the safe thing and security. Now, however, she wasn’t the same woman but a hybrid of all the Deirdres from before. She trusted Quinn so she struggled to settle her nerves. He handled the car well and after the first few white knuckled moments, she tasted the excitement. It rushed through her veins, potent as a drug and she whooped aloud with a wild delight.

  Deirdre scooted over until she sat as close to Quinn as possible, her left hand resting on his thigh. They traveled twenty miles, then looped back. By then, the light rain had become sleet. Quinn brought his speed down with a sigh. “’Tis no need to be totally do-lally,” he said as he took the next exit. “It’s gettin’ the wee bit slick and we’d best head for home. Des will fret if he realizes it’s sleetin’.”

  He sounded more upbeat so she asked, “Do you still have the bad feeling?”

  Quinn took her hand in his as he rolled to a stop at a traffic signal. “Aye, mo chroide, I do. It won’t go away, not till whatever happens is done, but the fast ride took my mind from it for a bit.”

  “I’m glad but I wish you didn’t have, uh, whatever it is.”

  His grin surfaced for a moment. “Ah, it’s the black Celt in me, I’m sure. Let’s go home, love. I’m in need of a drink.”

  Deirdre noticed the absence of sound when they entered the rear of the pub. So did Quinn. “It’s too quiet,” he said. Without waiting for her, he stalked ahead, leaving her to trail through the empty kitchen. Fear clutched at her heart with claws as Quinn bellowed, “Uncle Des, are ye here, man?”

  “Aye, in the bar,” the old man answered.

  “Where’s Eileen, Neal, and the wanes?”

  She caught up in time to hear the reply. “I took them back to their hotel for the night. They were all in, the wee ones fashed. I’ll fetch them back in the morning for their last day here, never fear. What’s amiss with ye?”

  “What are ye blatherin’ about?” Quinn said. “And hand me a glass. I’m sore of need of whiskey this night.”

  “I’m no fool, lad,” Des said, his voice gentled with emotion. “I may not have the Sight like ye do, but I’ve eyes in me head. Something changed and ye started sulking worse than a spoiled child. And that after she saw the fella at the airport and after the woman on telly came asking round about our Deirdre. I know ye’ve felt something and it’s never something good.”

  Quinn sat on one of the stools and reached for the bottle. He poured a drink and downed a healthy portion. “I didn’t know ye knew I’ve a touch of my mother’s gift or curse,” he said. “Da told ye?”

  “He did, long ago, when yer grandda died. Thanks be to God I don’t have a bit of the fey, but I’ve seen it oft enough to know it when I see it. I’ve not seen you with it before now, though.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, Deirdre reached for a glass and poured a drink. The smooth whiskey eased down her throat as she listened. Quinn patted the stool beside him and she climbed onto the seat.

  “It’s rare it comes on me,” Quinn said. “But it has and I’m worried.”

  “Ye were troubled before, since she spotted yer man at the airport.”

  “Aye, I was.”

  Deirdre had listened long enough. “So am I.”

  Desmond snorted. “I’ve got ye backs, the both of ye. And it may be that or not. There’s no tellin’ what yer fey ways portend.”

  Quinn heaved a long, suffering sigh. “I know.”

  “We’ll meet any trouble lad, together,” Des answered. “For now, though, I wouldn’t say a word to yer sister or she’ll stay.”

  “How can they? Don’t they have to get back to their jobs and such?”

  “Ye know Eileen better than that, Quinn. Aye, they do, but if she smells trouble, she’ll stay to do her part.”

  “That’s the last bloody thing I’d need,” Quinn muttered as he poured a second glass. “I don’t need her and her family in harm’s way.”

  His uncle yawned. “Aye, well, I can’t argue that but what I need is bed so I’m off. God knows what tomorrow may bring so I’d rather meet it well rested. Good night to ye both.”

  “Oiche mhaith,” Quinn said and Deirdre echoed it in English.

  “Good night, Uncle Des.”

  Once alone, silence filled the space between them until Deirdre put her hand on Quinn’s arm. “Sweetheart, we should go to bed too. I know you’re worn out.”

  “One more drink, then I will.”

  Deirdre worried he might drink too much, but he kept his word and stopped after his third. In the flat, he headed for the shower and she put the place to rights. The small rooms smelled of talcum powder and children, overlaid with the aroma of beer. Neal’s beverage of choice, she remembered. Although the weather remained chilly, she opened the window long enough to let in fresh air, then closed it. She changed into her nightgown before Quinn came out of the shower and lay down beside him. He wore a troubled expression, lips folded into a frown. Worry etched lines into his face and as she lay facing him, Deirdre traced them with her finger.

  “It’ll be all right,” she said although she had no guarantee but hope. “We have too much to be happy about for things to go wrong now.”

  “I hope ye’re right, acushla. Go to sleep if ye can. We’ll have a big day tomorrow, and I promised Eileen we’d take the wanes down to see the Christmas lights at the Plaza.”

  “Good night, Quinn. I love you.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Aye, I know. ‘Tis the one thing keepin’ me from losin’ me mind all together. And I love ye, Deirdre dear. Remember it, no matter what happens.”

  Despite his dire words, fatigue crept over her in a pervasive fog and she drifted into a light sleep. She slept uneasy and woke after less than a hour by the clock beside the bed. Quinn’s side was empty. Deirdre rose and without bothering to put on slippers or robe, she walked into the front room. Quinn sat there, the ancient rumpsprung arm chair pulled up facing the window, and stared into the darkness.

  “Couldn’t you sleep?” she asked.

  Without turning around, he answered. “Nay. I’m wound tighter than a clock spring.”

  His brittle tone hurt to hear. If I hadn’t ever gone, he wouldn’t be suffering now. Talk about cause and effect. Deirdre wished she could take away
every bit of his anxiety, but she realized it would be impossible. “Come back to bed,” she said, her hand resting on his shoulder.

  “I’m not in the mood for lovin’,” he said, which told her how terrible and heavy his burden was.

  “I’ll give you a massage and back rub,” she told him, tears sliding down her face. “I did, before. Remember?”

  Quinn released a long, slow breath. “Aye, I do, more than once.”

  “The first time, you’d hurt your back a bit,” she said. “The other times I did it after you’d had a hard day.”

  “That’s right. So, will ye now, then, love?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, aye.”

  Deirdre offered her hand and he took it. She pulled him up from the chair and led him to the bedroom. He laid face down on the sheets and she sat on the edge of the mattress, close. As she kneaded his taut muscles, he grunted.

  She began at his shoulders and worked her way down, sometimes manipulating his flesh, sometimes caressing and rubbing. As she worked, his tense body eased and after a long time, his breathing changed.

  Her hands and fingers ached from the task, but she continued for a few minutes more until she could be certain he slept. She kept on until she dozed upright, her hands still touching Quinn.

  Sometime during the long night, he awakened and roused her. “Come to bed or ye’ll catch yer death of cold,” he mumbled.

  Shivering in the chill room, she did. Her bare feet felt frozen as she slid beneath the blankets and curled against Quinn. His warmth radiated outward and she savored it. No matter what happened, she vowed, they would come through it whole and happy. They had it too far for any other outcome to be possible. As she relaxed, Deirdre did something she hadn’t for a long time—she recited the familiar Catholic prayers of her childhood, the Hail Mary, the Our Father, and the Glory Be in her mind. The repetition slowed her thoughts and distracted her from all else until she, too, slept.

  Chapter Eleven

  Quinn needed what sleep he could get so Deidre took care not to wake him when she rose. He’d slept fitful, thrashing about and sometimes mumbling things she couldn’t quite decipher. Although the worry lines in his face had relaxed, they hadn’t vanished. She dressed in the dark and crept down the stairs, her tread light.