"It would seem so disrespectful somehow. But at the moment I feel as though I'm falling apart," she confessed frankly, starting to shudder again with cold and dread.
He felt her hand quiver in his. Though he knew he would have to tell her the truth sooner or later, for now the only thing the poor girl needed was comfort and a few kind words.
So he sat down on the edge of the bed with his back resting against the headboard, and put one arm around her. As the tears began to fall, he held her close, feeling the heart-rending sobs wrack her slender body. He thought once more how lucky Augustine had been, and how foolish.
As she wept, Muireann wondered to herself how she could ever live with the immense guilt which threatened to engulf her. I'm an evil person, she reflected sadly. How can I possibly feel so relieved that he's dead? How can I possibly think of myself at a time like this? But I have no idea how to cope! What on earth will become of me? What shall I do?
These questions echoed in her mind over and over again. The past two weeks had been like her worst nightmare transformed into a hideous reality which she had no idea how to confront.
She wept as though her heart would break.
As she wept, Lochlainn damned Augustine for having left his lovely young bride in such a state, abandoned in Ireland with no friends, no family, no estate, and most likely no money to support her if his past habits were anything to go by.
He had quickly gone through her things—if she did have any money, it was certainly very well hidden. He would have to sort through Augustine's property later.
He had asked Mr. Burns if the couple had left anything valuable in the hotel safe, and received a negative reply. She was weeping now. Just how bad things were for Muireann financially he had no idea, but he had the feeling her sorrow was only just beginning, and about to get far worse if he didn't keep his wits about him.
"It will be all right, Muireann, you'll see," he heard himself say as her arms looped around his neck.
He allowed himself to relax and even take comfort from the warmth and affection of another human being, despite her being so grief-stricken she couldn't possibly know what she was doing.
"I'll look after you. Trust me. It will all be fine, you'll see."
Eventually her sobs began to die down, and she moved lower in the bed, further under the covers.
"Cold?" Lochlainn asked quietly, his lips pressed against her raven hair.
"A little."
"I'll go bank up the fire."
"No, stay with me, please. I'm warm enough like this, really," she said in a small voice.
He didn't need a second invitation to stay put. He was so weary himself, he felt as though he could lie down and sleep forever. He moved down lower in the bed too, and tucked the top of her head under his chin.
"There, is that better?"
"Mmm," Muireann murmured, drifting off.
"The doctor left you some medicine. Would you like some?"
"No, really, I just need to sleep, Lochlainn. The boat crossing was so awful, and there wasn't a cabin to be had."
No wonder the poor child was beside herself, Lochlainn reflected angrily. She had been pitched and tossed for three nights on the steamer from Scotland.
He tugged the spare blanket up over himself to keep off the chill as he lay there in his shirtsleeves. But despite his best efforts to keep awake to make sure Muireann was all right, he soon drifted off into a sound slumber, his arms wrapped around her as though he would never let her go.
CHAPTER THREE
Lochlainn stirred slowly as weak winter sunlight filtered through the window. God, but it was cold, came his first thought. He snuggled more warmly under the covers and let out a soft yawn. A small movement next to him brought him fully awake, as he suddenly realized he had fallen asleep next to Muireann.
He was about to ease himself away from her side quickly before she discovered his presence and took offence, when he saw that her deep purple eyes were already open.
She smiled up at him drowsily. "My, and I thought I was a heavy sleeper."
"Have you been awake long?" he asked, moving his hand up to check her temperature. She seemed to be cooler, and in better spirits than the night before.
"Long enough to be grateful that you don't snore."
"I'm sorry about . . ." he started to apologize as he tried to rise.
She rested one hand lightly on his chest. "Don't be. You fell asleep. And we'd both be frozen now otherwise," she said, closing her eyes again.
Slightly less embarrassed now, he couldn't resist the temptation to linger in the bed a few minutes longer. The room was now so cold he could see his breath when he spoke, and he hadn't been with a woman for so long.
Muireann's warmth and openness were too tempting. He couldn't help himself. He stroked her hair back from her delicately curved cheek, and rested his head next to hers on the pillow again, deeply inhaling her clean crisp fragrance soft, feminine, like roses, but with an alluring hint of musk.
Muireann was content to be held by Lochlainn, feeling no fear of him. But when he moved his hand down from her face in an attempt to rest it on her uncorseted ribs near her waist, she flinched away in agony.
"Good Lord, did I hurt you?" he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright as she sucked in a pained breath.
"Really, Lochlainn, it's not your fault. I told you, I fell on the ship. That's why I can't wear stays."
"You should get a doctor to look at you," he said lamely, as he watched her rise from the bed and walk over to the screen.
"Doctors cost money," she said over her shoulder, "and they wouldn't tell me anything I don't already know. I'll heal in time."
He recalled with a pang all the unpleasant truths he had been shielding her from since the terrible events of the day before, and lapsed into a gloomy silence.
When she came out from behind the screen, she poked the embers of the fire, then began to add more coal.
"Here, let me. You shouldn't be doing that. Not when you're ill," he declared, hastily rising from the four-poster.
"I'm bruised, that's all, not ill," she replied a trifle stiffly as she tried to keep hold of the coal scuttle.
"I know, but you might be, well . . ."
She looked at him sharply, and laughed. "My goodness, but you're a worrier. I noticed that about you from the first moment I met you, at the docks. You constantly scowl and look severe. You're meant to be the estate manager, not the grim reaper."
He rose to his full height and towered over her. "I take my responsibilities seriously, Mrs. Caldwell. There are many pressing concerns back at Barnakilla which, if you will forgive my saying so, you know absolutely nothing about. After Augustine's death, you would hardly expect me to act overjoyed, now would you?" He again began to glower at her in his usual fashion.
She sighed to herself and handed over the coal scuttle. Perhaps she had been foolish to think of him as an ally after all. Like all men, he was one thing by day, and another by night...
She went to her luggage and opened the first valise that came to hand. She pulled out the garment on top, a warm burgundy and black large-checked woolen gown. She tugged some fresh under things out of her smaller black bag, and went behind the screen to dress.
Lochlainn searched for his own discarded clothing and looked outside the door for some hot water.
She emerged from behind the screen a few minutes later, her raven black hair clouding around her slender shoulders, cascading down to below her waist in an ebony wave.
He stared at her open-mouthed, arrested by her beauty.
She misunderstood his stare completely. "I know, it looks a fright, doesn't it. My sister Alice is always telling me I should cut it. That makes me more determined than ever not to," she admitted with a small smile as she tugged her hair into a thick long plait down her back without even looking in the mirror, and flipped it over her shoulder as though her coiffure didn't matter in the least.
"No, it's not terrible, it's lovely. Hair like that
would earn you the envy of any woman," he said as he practically ran behind the screen to avoid her. What was wrong with him?
His former fiancée Tara had been beautiful--every man in the county had sought her hand. With her blonde hair and buxom good looks, she had had more proposals than any woman in Fermanagh. But she had chosen him, much to Lochlainn's surprise. One day she had caught him alone in the barn and made the nature of her interest in him all too plain.
Lochlainn certainly hadn't rejected her advances. He had been thirty at the time, and had begun to think it was about time he settled down with a wife and family. Their affair had lasted two years. Two passionate, tempestuous years. Though they had been engaged almost from the first, he could never seem to get Tara to fix a date. He had hoped she would get pregnant, but no child ever appeared. And then one day she had just vanished.
"Are you all right?" he heard Muireann ask.
"Yes, fine. Why?" He popped his head above the screen to look at her.
"You groaned, that's all. Here, you forgot the hot water. Stop splashing about in that cold, you silly man. You'll freeze to death."
"I'm surprised it isn't frozen in the basin," he remarked, as he came out for his shaving things, then quickly tackled the bristles on his chin, while Muireann tidied a few things in the room and made the bed.
She moved over to sit on a small low stool by the fire, where she warmed her hands and waited for him to get ready. She glimpsed his bare flesh as he removed his shirt to shave, and then took his clean one, draped over the top of the screen, to don it.
My, but he's handsome, even if he is always so serious, she thought with admiration. But then as he had so rightly pointed out, there were things about the Barnakilla estate of which she knew nothing. Sooner or later, Muireann knew, she was going to have to make a decision.
But not now, not quite yet. She needed to be sure first. She needed more information, which unfortunately only he could give.
But how could she confide in him? No, it was unthinkable. She did have some pride left.
A tap at the door heralded the arrival of their breakfast.
"Could you open the door, Muireann? I'm nearly finished here."
"Yes, of course," she answered, as the enticing aromas filtered in under the door.
She took the tray and laid it down on the small table in front of the fire. She moved the two chairs up closer to it.
As she laid out the dishes and then uncovered the serving bowls, she ventured hesitantly, "Lochlainn, about what I said before, about your being so grim and serious. I'm sorry. It was frivolous of me to tease you in that way. After all, I don't really know anything about you, now do I? I don't usually behave so inanely. I suppose I'm just trying to block out what's happened. But telling myself it was all a bad dream isn't going to make it go away, now is it?"
He glanced at her around the screen, and came out, fastening the front of his waistcoat. He was surprised at her practicality in the face of such a loss. "Well, it's understandable that you're upset."
"I know, but there are also arrangements to be made, and decisions."
"Decisions?" he echoed warily.
Muireann looked down for a moment as she poured the coffee. She took a deep breath before replying, "Two weeks ago I married Augustine and thought my life was all laid out before me. Now just a fortnight later, I'm facing chaos. I honestly don't know what to do."
His eyes never left her face as he came to sit down across from her. "About what?"
"Well, my life now, for one thing. I'm young, inexperienced, far more ignorant than I should be, and I haven't even set eyes on Barnakilla. I know no one here in Ireland except you. One half of me thinks I should go back home to Mother and Father in Fintry. Back to the security I know I shall find there. But another part of me is too proud to go back. I would be cosseted there, wrapped up in cotton wool, and I would never, well..."
"Go on, never what?" he prompted.
"Get the chance to really live," she said in a rush.
Lochlainn eyed her carefully. At length he observed, "It is early yet, Muireann. You've only just been widowed. Do you have to make any decisions now?"
Her words sounded just too good to be true. He had to be cautious.
"I suppose there is that. I was thinking, though, that it's easier to travel back to Scotland from here than to go all the way to Barnakilla only to find out that I've made a mistake.
"But I need your help, Lochlainn. I need you to tell me what Barnakilla is like. And I need your help with the funeral arrangements as well. I know it will be in the papers over here, but if we can possibly keep this all quiet, so my parents don't find out until after the funeral, and I can write to them, I would be very grateful."
Lochlainn scowled. "Shouldn't you have your family, the people you love, around you at a time like this?"
"No!" she snapped, and then colored. She put her fork down and nervously folded and refolded her napkin.
He could see her agitation, and the tears which welled up in her eyes. He moved his chair closer to hers, and softly held one of the hands which rested in her lap.
"I'm trying to understand, but you need to trust me. Tell me what's going on inside that head of yours. Why don't you want your family here?"
"Because I couldn't bear their pity, their kindness. I don't deserve it, nor do I want it. I would be suffocated. I do love them, it's not that. It's just, well, I'm twenty-one now. I'm not a child anymore. True, I've never organized a funeral, but if you'll help me, then I think we can get through this."
"We?" he asked in surprise.
"Well, it affects you too, doesn't it? I mean, I hope you won't start looking for another employer straight away if you wish to leave Barnakilla now that Augustine is dead," she said with a sniff.
"No, I hadn't thought of leaving Barnakilla at all," he said candidly. "I grew up there, you see. I've been away for three and half years. I've only just arrived back from Australia. Truth to tell, I would sooner cut off my right arm that ever leave Ireland again."
"Do you have a large family at Barnakilla?" Muireann asked in surprise. "Or a wife?" she added with a blush.
"No, no wife or sweetheart," he said, his handsome face darkening. "But Barnakilla has always been my home, and I for one think it's the most beautiful place in the world."
Muireann raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I suppose it's only natural to feel that way about the place you grew up. I'm sure I could give you glowing descriptions of my home at Fintry."
Lochlainn poured her more coffee, wondering how to answer.
She wrapped her shawl tightly around her as she waited for him to speak.
But he remained silent, brooding, avoiding her gaze as he continued his meal.
Muireann picked at her food for a few minutes longer. "Well, aren't you going to tell me about it?" she asked as the silence lengthened.
"About what?" he asked sharply, his gray eyes glittering.
She wondered at his quicksilver mood. "About Barnakilla, Enniskillen. You know, anything you think I ought to be apprised of if I'm to go there."
He relaxed then, and smiled. "Anything I told you would be biased by my fondness for the place. I can tell you it was once the most prosperous estate in the northwest. The house is splendid, the grounds, the setting. The hunting and fishing are second to none."
"Are there mountains, trees?" she asked enthusiastically.
"Yes of course, and the lough."
She frowned slightly. "The lock?"
"Lough Erne. We spell it with a gee aitch on the end, instead of a cee aitch as you do in Scotland. The eastern side of the property borders it, and the western side has the mountains and trees."
Muireann slowly digested this information. It sounded even more lovely than Fintry.
"And what do the people do for a living? I mean, where did my husband's wealth come from?" she asked innocently.
Lochlainn set his cup down so abruptly that the saucer almost cracked.
She
jumped, startled at his violent response. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, I just noticed the time. I want to see Father Brennan before he goes off on his parish rounds. You will excuse me," Lochlainn said, tugging on his great coat with evident agitation. He headed for the door, leaving her staring after him in amazement.
"Don't you want me to come with you?"
He shook his head. "I would say yes, but I think you've had a trying enough time already. The mountains of snow out in the streets that I can see from the window would be too hard for you to negotiate."
Call Home the Heart Page 3
