Call Home the Heart

by Shannon Farrell

  "I'm sorry, there are just so many things on my mind."

  "I know. I can see that. I just wish you'd tell me what they are. A problem shared is a often a problem halved."

  "I'm not sure what the problem is myself," Lochlainn admitted honestly. "I'm very confused."

  "I know I'm young and foolish, Lochlainn, but I do want to help Barnakilla as much as I can. And you did promise to be honest with me," she reminded him, taking his hand for a moment.

  "I did indeed. I promise I shall keep nothing from you about Barnakilla," he replied, neatly sidestepping the issue. He scolded himself inwardly. In future he would simply have to keep his mind on his work and not on his new employer.

  "We'll look over the papers whenever you feel up to it, Muireann, I swear."

  Muireann lapsed into silence again, until Lochlainn reached out and took her hand in his both of his own, enjoying her spontaneous gesture of affection, and wishing to prolong the pleasure.

  "You re very good with people, you know," he said suddenly. "You notice things about them. You, well, charm them might be a good word, if it didn't sound like something deliberate or coquettish. You're so natural, it just puts people at their ease."

  Muireann blushed. "I'll take it as a compliment, though I'm sure I don't deserve it."

  "But you do. That's the other odd thing about you. You're perhaps a bit too honest and open in your dealings with people."

  "Oh dear, didn't I drive a hard enough bargain with the man in the shop and the owner of the livery stable?" she joked.

  "No, I'm not talking about that. I just mean that you and I only met each other three days ago, and here we are conversing like old friends. You're my employer, and Paddy's, yet you treat us like your equals, members of your own family."

  Muireann blushed and avoided his gaze as she declared, "Well, you are my family now. I have no other here." She paused for a moment and sighed. "People are dishonest with each other all the time. I try to be honest, and I think you do as well. Just because I've been badly disappointed though, doesn't mean that I'm willing to stop trusting everyone entirely. I'll trust you for as long as you prove yourself to be trustworthy, Lochlainn.

  "But if I find you've betrayed me as well, our friendship will be at an end. But that's better than always being suspicious of people and fearing the worst. I find if you expect the worst from people, they inevitably live up, or down, to your expectations."

  "Beauty, intelligence, and a philosophical disposition as well." Lochlainn smiled slightly, kissing her hand. "What more could a man ask for?"

  She suddenly looked desolate. "I don't know."

  Her pained expression snapped Lochlainn's resolve, and he pulled her to him for a real kiss on the lips, which deepened as the carriage lurched on the road. Muireann looped her arms around Lochlainn's neck and pressed herself against him. Her whole body arched toward him like a flower opening itself to the vibrant rays of the sun. Though his hands on her ribs hurt terribly, she needed to feel his strength and warmth flow through her.

  Lochlainn twisted his mouth against hers, devouring her lips, his tongue exploring the moist cavern of her mouth, mingling with her own. It was like sipping a heady wine.

  Lochlainn's heart hammered in his chest as Muireann hugged him to her, and ran her fingers through his hair. Tara certainly never kissed like this, he reflected as his loins tightened alarmingly.

  Finally Lochlainn knew he couldn't hold back any longer. If he didn't stop now, he knew he would try to lift her skirt. That was completely unthinkable. Muireann was his employer. She needed his help, not his lovemaking. If he offended her, she could dismiss him from her service any time she liked.

  Suddenly Paddy called down from the driver's box that Enniskillen was within view. Lochlainn moved away from Muireann to open the window.

  A blast of icy cold air quenched his passion for a moment, and he let the freezing wind cool his flushed face. Turning to Muireann, who sat now with her hands pressed tightly in her lap, he said, "There it is!"

  Muireann rose to look out of the window. Despite her mixed emotions about the kiss she had just shared with Lochlainn, she smiled.

  It was lovely. The whole countryside was like a sparkling blue-green jewel etched with white frost. For a brief moment she was distracted from her worries. But she knew the kiss had been wrong. Her only excuse was that the fiery sweetness had carried her away utterly.

  However, her duty lay before her now all too clearly as the coach pulled into the depot. She was responsible for Barnakilla. Though it felt like a heavy burden on her shoulders, she knew she would have to carry the load herself. The utter powerlessness she had felt after her marriage to Augustine, when she had discovered abruptly just what a monster he was, had been enough to make her cautious about putting herself in the hands of any man ever again.

  Of course she longed to be held, and comforted. The kisses she and Lochlainn had shared had been nothing like those she had encountered before. She had been kissed a number of times in the past, but never had she felt she was missing out on anything when the kisses had ended. With Lochlainn, his lips held all sorts of unspoken promises which she could only guess at.

  But to wonder about him in that way would be to court disaster. Lochlainn was the most handsome, exciting man she had ever met. But he was her estate agent. She had to trust him with her business matters. Her growing feelings for him couldn't be allowed to get in the way of the work that was ahead of them. At any rate, he would probably be horrified if she admitted that she wanted him desperately. What would he think of her?

  She was certainly aware of the stereotype of the young widow. The last thing she needed was unnecessary gossip, especially with the way Augustine had died.

  Lochlainn had just been trying to cheer her up, to comfort her in her time of loss and confusion, she reasoned. She shouldn't be foolish enough to read anything more into it.

  Besides, she had to be strong. Muireann vowed that no matter what, she would never show how weak she was, and never, ever admit the awful truth, which she mournfully tried to push to the back of her mind: she was falling in love with Lochlainn Roche.

  I have to leave the past behind. This is my future now. I have to succeed on my own, she vowed as she folded the rugs up into a bundle, and stepped out of the carriage decisively.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Muireann and Lochlainn unloaded the carriage together, and walked to the west end of the town in the hope of getting a lift on a cart bound for Donegal, which would at least take them part of the way to Barnakilla.

  They left Paddy with the coach driver to make the trip back to Dublin. Muireann gave him permission to stay away for as long as he was needed.

  "And make sure they pay you good wages," she advised as she waved goodbye to him.

  "I will. Thank you!"

  The sky was darkening rapidly. Muireann began to shiver, but she refused to let Lochlainn see she was suffering. So she simply wrapped her cloak more tightly around her and said, "Come on, let's walk."

  "But it's freezing!" he exclaimed, shouldering his own bag.

  "It will be worse if we stand around doing nothing," Muireann said as she began to trudge up the road.

  Fortunately, most of the snow had melted, so the road was slushy but not too dangerously slippery. After about a mile, a cart coming along the road shone its beams on them, and for a few pennies the man agreed to take them straight to Barnakilla.

  Since it was a bright moonlit night, Muireann was able to see Barnakilla from the bottom of the long avenue as the cart neared her new home. The trees were completely bare, giving her an unimpeded view of the mansion.

  At first it didn't look too bad. Quite grand, in fact. The front entrance was large, with a portico held up by four stout pillars. Muireann could see it had once been a traditional early Georgian house, square, with tall, elegant windows, which had been added to over the years.

  There was a small terrace running down one side of Barnakilla, accessible by a p
air of French windows, and a long wing at the back. A second terrace led down to what no doubt had once been a magnificent lawn, now wildly overgrown, which was evident despite the winter weather blighting most of the Irish vegetation at that time of year.

  As she drew closer, however, she could see moss and lichens clambering up the dingy walls. In some places she wasn't even certain the roof was still on. The stable and outbuildings were also dilapidated. The whole house and its surrounds gave Muireann the impression of something from a Gothic horror novel: grim, deserted, isolated.

  "You'll have to stay with us at our cottage for the night. It will be freezing inside the house, and I must say I've not had much time to look through it since I got back a few weeks ago. I've done nothing to the estate except battle with creditors because Augustine didn't leave me any instructions before he left for Scotland."

  "There's no need to apologize, Lochlainn. I'm sure you've done your best," Muireann replied in an even tone, trying to conceal the fact that her heart had sunk into her boots. "Do we at least have lots of firewood?" she asked with a shiver.

  "I got plenty chopped when the weather was fine last week, so we should be in good shape for a while. There's also lots of turf."

  "And where are the estate papers?"

  "In the study, and in the estate office. But it is too late to start working on that now! You must be exhausted."

  "I'm fine, really. Can you show me where the office is?"

  "This way," he indicated, lifting the bags, and leading her around to the back of the house.

  The rusty old key turned in the equally rusty lock, and he ushered Muireann in. She looked at the mountain of papers and said, "I think I see what you mean."

  Lochlainn put his arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you just come home with me now and meet Ciara?"

  "I'll just take some of these ledgers to read by the fire, if I may."

  "You may do as you like, Muireann. You're the owner now," Lochlainn reminded her.

  Once again, she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Lochlainn's cottage was near the stable block, a small three-room structure divided into a large kitchen and living area with two reasonably sized bedrooms at one end.

  Lochlainn's sister Ciara was immediately at the door to greet her brother. After patting him on the shoulder in a stiff way, she shook hands with Muireann quite formally.

  Ciara was a very small, reserved woman, with dark brown hair and green eyes. At thirty-four, she was two years younger than Lochlainn, but she looked even older, and her rough hands testified to the hard work she had carried out over the years. She was cordial and polite, but not friendly. She eyed Muireann with obvious curiosity and mistrust. Lochlainn smiled in a forced manner as he introduced Muireann.

  "This is Muireann Graham Caldwell, Augustine's wife."

  Ciara slammed down the bowl she had been spooning potatoes into, and stared at both of them, shock etched on her sharp, weary features.

  "The landlord's married?"

  "The news is more astonishing than that. Augustine is dead. I've asked Muireann to stay with us until we can get the house in better order for her."

  Ciara continued to stare, and at last she reached for Muireann's cloak and began to make her feel more welcome.

  "You poor child! But how? I don't understand . . ."

  "Please, Ciara, not now," Lochlainn urged futilely.

  "No, Lochlainn, tell her. Or better still, I will. There was a gun accident in the hotel in Dublin and he was killed. We buried him yesterday, and came up here."

  "My goodness, how horrible!" Ciara shook her head, as she tried to recover herself.

  She moved over to the fireplace and uncovered a small black pot-bellied cauldron. She divided the potatoes from it onto three plates before opening another small pot hanging suspended over the turf, and ladling some rabbit stew over them.

  Lochlainn blushed at the simplicity of his cottage and the poor fare. He was relieved to see that Muireann seemed to take no notice and began to eat the food hungrily once she had said grace. At least the cottage is clean, he thought to himself. All the same, he felt completely inadequate.

  "I shall move my things out of my room in a minute," he said. He put another mouthful of the now seemingly tasteless stew into his mouth and tried to swallow it.

  "Don't be silly. I can sleep out here by the fire, or share with Ciara. There's no need to put you out."

  "But there's only one bed in my room," Ciara protested sullenly, earning a sharp look from her brother.

  "It doesn't matter. I can have a pallet on the floor," Muireann said calmly.

  "Muireann, you're an aristocratic lady. It's bad enough that you have to stay here, but for you to sleep on the floor is unthinkable," Lochlainn rasped, his color rising.

  "Well, I've just thought of it, so that's what I shall do. Please, Lochlainn, I thought we had this discussion last night and ironed out the difficulties."

  Lochlainn blushed at the recollection, and almost wished he could contrive for them to share a bed again.

  You mustn't think of it! he scolded himself roundly, and avoided Muireann's amethyst glance.

  He rose to take the bags into Ciara's room, and went out of the door of the cottage, coming back a few minutes later with a mattress, which he had fetched from the stables.

  "This one is quite clean. I found it in the barn. It must have been for the stable lad, but the last boy left before I arrived. I suppose once most of the horses had gone, there was no point in replacing him. So it's all yours."

  "It will do perfectly well," Muireann said. She took one end and helped him lay it down on the floor of the room, while Ciara fetched some clean sheets out of the press.

  "What did happen to the horses?" Muireann asked as she maneuvered the mattress into a corner.

  "I suspect Augustine must have sold them all to get the money to go over to Scotland, but knowing the way the Caldwells liked to spend money, it could have been for anything," Lochlainn speculated, the disgust all too evident in his voice.

  "And are there any other family, people who might be willing to help Augustine's widow, if I appealed to their better sensibilities?" Muireann asked.

  Lochlainn's features clouded over with anger at Christopher's past insult to him. "There's only his cousin Christopher, from the neighboring estate Duchara. He's been in Europe on and off for quite some time, or so I believe. He's as much of a spendthrift as Augustine ever was."

  Just then Ciara came into the room, and upon hearing her brother's words, dropped the sheets and blankets she was carrying.

  "What's the matter?" Lochlainn demanded impatiently, embarrassed at his sister's clumsiness.

  "N-n-nothing," she replied. "I was just careless, that's all."

  "Really, Lochlainn, there's no harm done," Muireann said reassuringly as she picked up the bed linen, while Ciara scurried from the room.

  "There now, you've hurt her feelings. And all because of me," she accused Lochlainn angrily. "This can't be easy for her, you know. I'm a total stranger taking over her home, after all."

  "I know, I know. It's just that of late she acts so strangely sometimes. She should have married, had children. It would have been an outlet for all her, well, fussiness, her attention to details. She likes everything to be perfect, you see, now more than ever."

  "Well, perhaps the right man never asked her to marry him?" Muireann said with a sharp look as she began to make up the bed quickly and efficiently.

  "That's just the point. She used to be very beautiful. In the last three years she's changed so much, I barely recognized her when I returned home. Plenty of men have asked her over the years, but she's always said no. Even my best friend, Robert, who was the blacksmith on the estate, asked her. She refused him and he went away broken-hearted," Lochlainn revealed, shaking his head at the waste of it all.

  "And where is Robert now?" Muireann asked. She stooped to lay the blankets down one by one, forming a cozy resting place f
or herself.

  "I'm not sure. On one of the estates hereabouts. He moves around a lot."

  "We might use his services some time, if you can find him," Muireann offered kindly.

  "Well, we have few horses now, just the two farm animals for the plough, but for repairs around the estate he would be excellent."

  "Is he married?"

  He shook his head. "No, he never wed."

  Lochlainn disliked talking about his sister's odd behavior with an outsider. Before Muireann could ask any more probing questions, he went out into the kitchen and moved towards the fireplace. There he filled the hot water bottles, and put one into each of the three beds.