by Laura Parker
“First…several,” Deirdre echoed in faint dismay.
“Aye, and we’ll have a lass or two to round out the number,” Killian added.
“Look! Is that velvet? It is! My velvet gown,” Deirdre cried in delight as she pulled it free. She turned to him. “You’ve been to Cork.”
“Aye, so I have. There are wools, velvets, and even a silk gown,” Killian answered. “I brought a pair of chairs and a table. They’re not as fine as those you’re accustomed to, but they’ll do.”
Deirdre’s face was wreathed in a huge smile. “Aye, they’ll do, Killian MacShane. And so you’ll know, I love you!”
Killian folded his arms across his chest in satisfaction as she filled her arms with the gifts he had claimed as his share of the smugglers’ horde. He had pleased her, and that’s all he had wanted. Later he would tell her how his trip to Cork had forestalled the Bill of Discovery against him. It was quite amazing what a few cases of French brandy could buy. His cattle were to be released and the petition dropped. As for the rest of his adventure, the less she knew, the better. O’Donovan’s threat was real, and the investigation he had begun against the man must not leak out.
“Leave the rest for Colin and Enan to bring in,” he said as he took the bundle from her. “You have yet to show your husband a proper welcome.”
Deirdre smiled saucily at him. “I thought you did not want to wear out your poor knees.”
Killian grinned at her over the pile in his arms. “And so I was thinking on my journey home. You’re not to know but there’s ways, lass, of pleasing a man that don’t wear out his knees.”
Deirdre colored to the roots of her hair but she hurried after him as he strode toward the house.
“It doesn’t need a great mind to know where they’re going and what they’ll be doing when they get there,” Enan Ross exclaimed from where he stood watching in the doorway of the stable.
“Shut up!” Fey glowered up at him. “Ye do nae know everything.”
“I know enough to please a lass, were I of a mind,” he answered cockily.
“Yer mind does nae come into it,” Fey shot back. “And as for the lass who’d choose ye to bed her, she’d must have a mind smaller than me loodeen.”
“I could prove ye wrong, were ye nae so afraid of me loving ye,” Enan said as he reached out for her.
“I’d rather eat turf!” Fey cried and swung away from him.
Enan smiled as he watched her walk across the yard. His ma was wrong about her. Were she a loose girl, she would have succumbed to his blandishments long ago. It had been two weeks since he had fished her out of the river, and she had done no more than allow him to kiss her on one occasion. But he could wait. She was just beginning to blossom into womanhood. When her hips filled out and her hair grew in, she would please him right enough. Already her breasts had begun to jiggle as she walked. Aye, he would wait, for he was barely fifteen. There was the widow beyond the valley who had once proved to him that he was a man and might again, if he brought her a gift. When Fey was ready, he would make a proper bride of her.
“Never fear, madilse!” he called after her. “’Tis proper wed I’ll see ye!”
An hour later Deirdre’s head lay on Killian’s bare chest, her naked thighs riding along either side of his waist. “You were right, my love. There are other ways.”
Killian slowly opened dreamy eyes. She sat up astride him, the thick, billowy golden cloud of her hair blanketing her shoulders. “You are more beautiful than life.”
Deirdre laid a finger against his lips. “No, never say that. It is unlucky to think yourself too pleased with life.” She shrugged “I myself am only moderately pleased.”
Killian frowned. “Did I not satisfy you, lass?”
“Aye, you did,” she answered, her eyes softening as she gazed down at him. “You please me so much it frightens me.”
“Why?”
Deirdre wet her lips, suddenly shy. “Because…because no matter how much you please me, I always think of what the next time will be like. That is greedy, ungracious. I feel I want to gorge myself on you, to never let you rise, ever. Do you understand?”
Killian nodded, unable to voice the deep emotions that her words roused within him. He raised his hands to her shoulders, resting them lightly there, and then brought them in slow descent down over her collarbone to her breasts, which he squeezed lightly, eliciting a soft open-mouthed gasp from her.
He would not tell her today, could not. Was it selfish and perhaps cruel knowing what he must say to her and yet wait, allowing her to give in completely to the joy of the moment? He could not believe so, not when she looked down at him with a passion that made him melt and grow hard in the same instant. They needed this day, these hours, to cement a loving that must withstand a parting.
His hands moved to her waist and he lifted her slightly to bring them together, reveling in her sigh of joy as he slid within her; and then he forgot all but the glory and magic of their union.
*
Killian glared at the glossy surface of the bog-oak table at which he sat with his supper, not lifting his eyes until he thought he had some measure of control over his temper. “You sent the English soldiers packing without so much as a cup of water?”
Deirdre’s chin jutted out. “There’s no reason to shout. I did what seemed necessary.”
“As you did with the child and sending for a priest. God bless, woman! You might have gotten yourself arrested for any or all of those things!”
Deirdre stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “I did what I thought was best. Were you here, you might have chosen to do else. But you were not here.”
“I’ve explained—”
“You explained nothing, nor did I ask you to,” Deirdre cut in. “You’ve been roaming about, doing who knows what, and I do not complain about it. But you will not shout at me under my own roof!”
Fey looked up from her perch on a wine barrel. “The pair of ye sound like fish mongers!”
“Stay out of this!” Deirdre and Killian cried in unison.
Fey rose. “Well, that’s telling me, I’m sure. Scream at each other and wake the bairn, for all I care. I’ll nae rock him to sleep again.” She stomped off.
Killian suddenly changed color. “The bairn. I forgot he was actually here.”
Deirdre gave him a blighting look. “You were too busy shouting to think of him. His name’s Dary, at least for now. Mrs. Mooney’s a fine wet nurse. Later we may find another home for him.”
“You’ll do that now,” Killian said grimly.
“Why should I? I’m capable of looking after him.”
Killian raised his head. “You won’t be here to look after him after tomorrow.”
Deirdre gazed at him in shocked surprise. “Why not? Where are we going?”
“You are going back to France,” Killian said in clipped tones. “Don’t even question it. ’Twill do you no good to rail at me. Back to Nantes you go until I say you’re to return.”
Deirdre was not about to argue. She was so taken aback that she could think of nothing whatever to say for a moment. “Why?” was all she said in the end.
“Because Ireland’s not a safe place for a lady. Look at you, playing the wife of an impoverished farmer with no crops and fewer cows. The crop of blisters on your lovely hands are all we’ve to show for our months here. You have nothing to wear, less to eat, and now a babe on your hands that could cause you to be arrested. Oh, we’re a fine pair, we are!”
“I thought I looked rather well,” Deirdre said primly, forcing Killian to look up at her.
After a thorough scrubbing, she had donned the dark wine velvet gown Killian had brought her. It shone vibrantly against the smooth skin of her neck and bosom, and she felt beautiful for the first time in months.
“Aye, you warm my heart, Dee, but that’s the very reason I must get you away. There’s trouble. If the English came once, you can believe they will come again.”
“Wh
at will you do to pacify them?” Deirdre questioned innocently. He had told her of the Bill of Discovery and how he had escaped it, but he had not mentioned the petition she had been shown by the soldier seeking admission into the English Church.
“What I must,” Killian muttered.
“Does that include collusion on the loss of your soul?”
Killian turned cold inside. “Who told you?”
Deirdre’s eyes flashed. “Why did you not tell me? Why must I hear of your schemes from strangers? Do you not trust me?”
Killian stood up. “I wanted to spare you that.”
“What, the fact that my husband is capable of blithely turning his coat without turning a hair? Mille murdher! I am not a child to be protected from the matters of adults.”
“It has nothing to do with that,” Killian roared, drowning out the end of her speech. “This is not a parlor game or a romp, Dee. Our lives may hang on every action we take or refuse to make. The green meadows and hills filled with quiet times and sweet tunes are gone. Can you not see that every man, woman, and child who calls himself an Irishman is fighting for his very survival?”
“I’m not too good to fight for mine,” Deirdre answered stoutly.
“No, Dee, you’re not. But I cannot think on what might happen if you lose.” Killian turned away, amazed by the unsteadiness of his voice. For years he had faced the danger of death or maiming. It had never frightened him, never fostered within him this stark cold terror that the thought of losing Deirdre brought to mind.
Deirdre came up behind him and put her arms about his shoulders. “Perhaps I have been foolish or careless, but not out of ignorance, my husband. I see what war has done to my home, what unjust laws and greed have done, but it is my home. I wanted you to make it yours.”
Killian stood still within her embrace. He felt as cold and rigid as the granite peaks of the Shehy Mountains. “I want to keep you safe and I do not know if that is within my power. Whatever I have done, or will do, I do it for you.”
Deirdre leaned her forehead against his back, smiling through the tears that had risen. “Two months ago you said you did not know how to be a good husband. You have learned, my love.”
Killian turned in her arms and Deirdre caught in his eyes the gleaming of tears which would not fall. “You will then trust my judgment?”
“Only if you do not ask me to leave you,” she answered.
Killian sighed like a bellows and then the beginnings of a smile lifted his mouth. “It would be like you to return as quickly as I sent you away.”
“Aye. Like bath water thrown into the wind, I’d rebound with unpleasant swiftness.”
Killian hugged her so tightly that she moaned. “Then you must at least promise me you will not leave Liscarrol or speak to anyone until I have settled matters with the authorities.”
“Very well, my love.”
“And under no circumstances are you to be seen with Teague O’Donovan.”
“What of the Mass and Dary’s christening?”
Killian’s expression became one she had seen only once before. “If you set one foot out of this house without my permission, I’ll wedge you into one of these wine barrels and ship you to the duchesse!”
Deirdre stiffened. “Mention that woman’s name again and I’ll be the one sealing you in a barrel!”
Killian bent his head and kissed her. “The matter is settled.”
“Aye. For now,” Deirdre murmured
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Lady MacShane, ’tis to be a fine new moon rising just before daybreak,” Mrs. Mooney said as she laid a wooden plate of oat bread before Deirdre. “There’s nothing quite like a Sabbath moon. A body could do worse than to rise to greet a morning moon.”
Deirdre looked up in surprise, for Mrs. Mooney had seldom spoken to her in the weeks since Killian’s return, and then only when he was not present, as he was now. A single quick nod of the woman’s head confirmed what Deirdre suspected. Word had come that Father Teague would be saying Mass at daybreak somewhere nearby.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mooney. Where do you think would be the best view of such a sight?”
“Och, for a young body such as yerself, ’twould be no great journey to take the path to the top of the mountain beyond the river. Following the right shoulder would bring ye to the top for a grand view.”
“That sounds like a great deal of exercise for a small reward,” Killian said between a bite of oat bread and a sip of buttermilk.
“Perhaps for you it is,” Deirdre replied genially. “But I have not stretched my legs in a great while, I am cramped in every limb. I miss horseback riding most of all.”
Killian gave her a quick warm smile. “Then take the pony.”
Deirdre could not hide her surprise. “Do you mean it?”
Killian nodded. “Would I deny you a rare fine moon rise?”
“Will you come with me, Mrs. Mooney?”
The woman nodded and turned away.
“Then ’tis settled,” Deirdre announced and picked up the first piece of her supper.
“Be careful, mo cuishle,” Killian added in a low voice.
Deirdre glanced at him suspiciously but his expression was bland. “Of course.”
The night dragged by so slowly that Deirdre could barely lie still in bed. She was glad that Killian slept so heavily and soundly beside her, for he would have guessed that she was up to no good had he been aware of her restlessness.
Finally she heard a scraping in the room below and knew that Mrs. Mooney had been awakened either by Dary or by Colin’s wife, Mrs. Ross. Moving as quietly as possible, she slipped out of the bed and was immediately enveloped in the icy breath of darkness. She had placed her clothes on the floor beside the bed so that she would not need a light, and she dressed quickly, adding a woolen shawl over her velvet gown.
“There ye be!” Mrs. Mooney greeted in a loud whisper as Deirdre descended the stairs. “I was about to come up for ye.”
“Will you lace me up the back before we go?” Deirdre asked, lifting her shawl.
Outside, the pony had been bridled and a blanket thrown over his back, and Colin held his head while Enan lifted her onto the animal’s back. “Would ye want to be holding wee Dary, yer ladyship, seeing as ye’re riding?”
Deirdre nodded and took the child Mrs. Mooney held, folding her woolen shawl over his thin garments. “Will Mrs. Ross be coming too?”
Colin shook his head. “His lordship will be waking before we return and wanting his breakfast, no doubt. Sila agreed ’twould be she who stayed. We must go, yer ladyship, or ’tis late we’ll be!”
It was still dark when they set out, but during the twenty minutes of traversing the valley, the black gloom gave way to a blue-gray twilight. Thick white wisps of mist hovered over the path of the river and circled the tops of the trees to the south. As they began to climb, Deirdre finally ceased to shiver with cold. Dary stirred in her arms, his face a pale blue amid the covers.
“Today we’re making a good Catholic of you,” she whispered as she held him tighter. “You must live up to that honor, my bouchal, for ’tis certain a number put themselves in mortal danger for you.”
The pony’s hooves sounded sharply in the silent morning air, each a distinct click upon the granite stones as they climbed.
When at last they reached the shoulder of the hill, the morning sky was bathed in pastel shades of blue, mauve, and rose beneath the deep green sod of the surrounding countryside.
Deirdre did not realize they were not alone until she looked back over the rise and saw other dark shapes like themselves climbing the hill. For an instant fear gripped her, but as she pointed them out to Colin, he merely nodded.
“That’ll be the O’Dineens and the O’Donovans,” he whispered low.
The “church” was nothing more than a deserted hillside, the altar a simple crucifix set up on a huge boulder laid on its side by time. It was a mean and demeaning place for this holiest of rituals, and she
wished fervently for the graceful archways and stained-glass windows of a real church.
She did not recognize Father Teague among the dark knots of men and women clustered together, nor, she noticed, did any man speak to another as they took up their positions before the makeshift altar.
Deirdre knelt in the grass with the others, feeling the sharp prick of heather stubs through the velvet of her gown, but she did not give voice to her complaints. Lowering her head, she breathed deeply of the air tinged with salt from the sea more than fifteen miles to the south.
Slowly she began to relax and gradually she took up the ancient psalm that had begun at the far side of the congregation. No one had to warn them to sing softly, but that did not dim the beauty of the tune or the fullness of belief that surrounded her.
If only Killian had come, she thought fleetingly, ashamed now that she had not told him what she intended to do and asked him to join her.
The Mass began without preamble. Suddenly a man in cassock appeared before the altar. He emerged from the crowd and never turned back toward them during the service. When the moment of distribution of the Host came, he pulled his hood forward over his head and stood with his face in shadow. But for his voice intoning, “Corpus Christi,” he might have been no more substantial than the sooty shadow he cast on the dew-drenched grasses.
Following the others, Deirdre knelt before the priest and extended her tongue for the Host.
For an instant the priest did not move, the Host held suspended by his fingers, and Deirdre raised her head to look at him. And then the Host was in her mouth, and he was moving on down the line of kneeling supplicants.
She rose and turned to walk away only to catch her breath in awe.
The moon had risen in the east, a silver crescent illuminating the surrounding clouds tinging their edges rose.
The fragile instant of beauty, of colors and light, went as quickly as it came but not before Deirdre absorbed the moment forever in her memory.
How wrong she had been. The canopy of the heavens was a more lovely and fitting setting for God’s work than any manmade beauty ever could be.
