Muireann smiled up at him, and took comfort from his large form beside her. She breathed in the musky male scent of him, and felt herself go weak in the knees. An uncontrollable wave of desire surged through her as she had a sudden recollection of their kiss in the bed in Virginia Town that fateful morning when she had just buried Augustine and vowed to start a whole new life for herself.
Here she was, a little over a month later, and this enigmatic man had been at her side every step of the way, arguing, true, but also supporting and encouraging. Backing up her every idea even when she could tell he believed her to be wrong.
Part of her longed for the old comforts of Fintry, the beauties of her childhood home. The other half told her that though it had been a difficult path so far, she was on the right road. With Lochlainn by her side, how could she fail?
But there was more to life than hard work, wasn't there? There should be time for love, too. Muireann stiffened slightly as that word suddenly soared into her mind.
She examined it carefully in the context of her relationship with Lochlainn, and thought perhaps it was not so strange a word to use after all. What did marriage mean for her? Her ideal was a meeting of equals, a partnership, a special closeness and comfort shared with the beloved.
She had seen enough failed marriages, experienced one for herself briefly and horribly, to know she wanted something different from what her parents and Alice and Neil seemed to share. Alice had taken great delight in warning Muireann about the terrible things one was required to do in the marriage bed. Muireann shuddered again briefly, causing Lochlainn to tighten his arm around her and offer her his jacket.
"No, really, I'm fine. It was just someone walking over my grave," she said quickly.
She tried to distract herself by moving forward to help with a particularly stubborn log, which suddenly swung into her arm with a crunching blow. She grabbed it and cried out in pain. Lochlainn came running.
"Here, let me see!" he commanded, taking her hand and gently baring her arm to the elbow. "Well, you'll certainly have a good bruise there, but I don't think it's broken."
"I'll be fine. I don't bruise easily," Muireann remarked unthinkingly.
Lochlainn frowned at the remark, puzzled. When he had first met her...
But Muireann colored furiously at her slip up, and stalked away towards the house. "Come up for something hot to eat and drink as soon as you're all finished here, Michael," she said over her shoulder. "You and the whole crew."
"We'll be up in a minute," Michael called after her.
"Patrick will watch the boat just to make sure it doesn't sail away without you."
Lochlainn could see the strain in her expression. Something odd was going on. Was she homesick? Or just exhausted? Or in a delicate state?
At that thought he frowned, and hurried after her.
Worried that Muireann was overdoing things again, he determined she would get another good night's sleep at least, and made plans to smuggle the sleeping powder into a cup of coffee later in the evening. Bringing it to her in the study would give him a good excuse to be alone with her too, he thought with another surging pang of desire.
That evening, the Andromeda crew and the Barnakilla workers all crammed into the benches together, chatting amiably. They ate their fill of the hearty stew with suet dumplings which was put before them.
Once they had finished their meal, Michael asked for a small tour of the house and estate. At the end of it, when they had returned once more to the warmth of the kitchen, he admitted, "You certainly do have your work cut out for you, cousin. At the same time, I know you can't resist a challenge. You probably love every minute of this, even the scrubbing, cleaning, and living as though you're camping out under the stars."
"It's certainly not been fun." Muireann shook her head. "But now, with all these things you've brought me, and Neil's help, I think I'm beginning to see some glimmer of hope. My only worry is the sum owing to the bank, which is huge. But they've agreed not to do anything until after the court case against the old accountant and lawyer. All the same, things will still be pretty tight if my businesses don't thrive."
"Neil says he'll take as much timber as you can give him, and I'm sure Philip will have no objections to a couple of trips each month. We'll get to see each other pretty often."
"You mean so you can all keep an eye on me," Muireann accused a trifle angrily.
"No, of course not," he said indignantly. "I know you well enough to know you'll be fine. For what it's worth, I think you have a good man in Lochlainn. I like him very much."
"I'm glad. He is a good man," Muireann replied warmly. "Give my love to your parents and brothers, and Neil and my parents too, of course. Anything you can do to dissuade mother and father from coming over will be greatly appreciated."
"I understand, Muireann. Never fear, I shall present everything in the most glowing terms possible."
"Not too glowing, I hope," she said with a warning look. "If I do have to sell this place because the bank forecloses they will definitely find out what a bunch of liars you, myself and Neil really are."
"You won't fail. I'll bet you anything you like."
"I haven't any money, and I don't gamble," she said sharply.
"I'll bet you a kiss, then," Michael joked.
"You can have one of those without having to make a bet," Muireann laughed, and kissed her cousin on the cheek.
"Take care of yourself."
"Aye, and you."
She walked him down to the dock, and watched the boat as it cast off. Wondering why she felt so alone, she waved as the Andromeda rowed away, then became a mere speck on the horizon before vanishing altogether in the glimmering twilight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lochlainn found Muireann in the study about an hour later. He sat down in front of the desk, but she never looked up from her column of figures.
"Are you all right, Muireann?" Lochlainn asked softly.
"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I be?"
His gray eyes rested upon her intently. "You look bit sad, that's all."
"There is no reason to be, is there? With all the livestock and other items Michael has brought, things couldn't be better," she said in an optimistic tone.
"Well, with the court case still pending, and the problem with the mortgage repayments, I thought you might be getting a bit despondent."
She shook her head.
But Lochlainn saw her pinched white face and the dark circles under her eyes. "Did you manage to sleep well last night?"
"I've been sleeping just fine," she lied.
Lochlainn knew for certain she was fibbing. From his vantage point in the room next to her own, he had heard her whimpering on and off all night. Why was she behaving so oddly? Was her sleeplessness and dullness over the past few days symptomatic of grief, or was something else weighing on her mind?
He went into the kitchen and brought her back a cup of coffee, which he had laced with the sleeping mixture. Soon she was nodding off, and Lochlainn carried her up to bed. Loosening her dress, he tucked her in. He kissed her on the lips lingeringly, but berated himself for taking advantage of her. She would no doubt be horrified if she knew what he was thinking as he touched her . . .
Again that night he heard her moan and cry. Holding his head in his hands, he forced himself not to go in to see her. To get into bed with her again would be completely wrong. She trusted him. He simply couldn't break that trust.
He went into the room and spoke to her quietly from the doorway, not daring to move closer for fear of touching her, loving her. . . At last she settled down, but for Lochlainn, wracked by desire, sleep was a long time coming.
The next day was relatively uneventful, except that Muireann's payments for all her various enterprises came in when Patrick returned from town. She immediately paid off the rest of her debts to the creditors in town, wiping every slate clean, and then made further bargains for her produce and timber.
When Lochlainn sa
w her that night, she looked more contented than he had seen her for a while, but she was so weary her eyes were black with shadows. He knew she got up at five or six every day. Even with the sleeping powder, she wasn't getting very much rest.
"Come now, my dear, you're absolutely done in," he said, taking her hand and leading her away from the shed where she had been helping with the milking. "I've got some sleeping powder for you. I want you to take it and get a good night's sleep. "
Muireann's eyes widened in alarm. "No, really, I mustn't!"
"Muireann, this is ridiculous. You'll be no good to any of us if you collapse. Now please, for me, take the draught."
Muireann still looked disturbed, but in the end she obeyed his command and swallowed it in one gulp.
"Good girl," Lochlainn said, kissing her on the forehead.
Muireann put her arms around him briefly. She didn't dare admit how terrified she was of her nightmares. It would sound so silly, and she would have to admit the truth, which she wasn't even prepared to acknowledge to herself.
She was just about to let go of Lochlainn when her knees began to wobble, and his whole face swam before her eyes.
"God, I'm so tired," she murmured drowsily.
He swung her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He tugged down the covers with one hand before laying her down. Then he loosened the top buttons of her dress and tucked her in under the quilt.
"Sleep now, my dear."
She gazed up at him tenderly, stroking his lightly bristled cheek. "Thank you, Lochlainn."
"Don't mention it." He kissed her gently on the lips. He rose from the bed to close the shutters, and left her alone slumbering peacefully.
It seemed to Lochlainn that he had only just fallen asleep himself when he heard a shout from the next room. The nightmares again, he thought dazedly as he grabbed his trousers and shirt, yanking them on as he ran into the bedchamber next door. Muireann was thrashing about wildly on the bed. Lochlainn was terrified she might do herself an injury.
"It's me, Muireann, Lochlainn. Wake up!" he urged, shaking her by the shoulders.
But she continued to thrash about, so that he pinned her body down as she shouted, moaned and wailed like one possessed.
"No, don't! Don't! You can't! You'll be sorry, you'll see!" she shrieked over and over again.
At one point she even shouted, "Let me go!"
For a moment Lochlainn took her literally at her word. But then she jumped off the bed wild-eyed, and began tugging at the door handle as though trying to escape from some unseen terror in the room.
She didn't waken, but eventually, with Lochlainn's comforting arms around her, her wailing began to subside. She gulped and sniffed a few times, and soon her ragged breathing grew more even.
Lochlainn laid her down and got into the bed beside her, but for him sleep was elusive. He was stunned by her behavior. Why was she so disturbed by nightmares? Could it be she was reliving the horror of the hotel incident?
Despite himself, Lochlainn now began to wonder if it truly had been an accident, as he had told Father Brennan. Muireann had said the same at the time. Surely she had nothing to hide, to reproach herself for, did she?
Ridiculous, he berated himself as he rose from the bed restlessly. It simply wasn't possible to think she had been to blame. Had shot her husband...
He went back into the chamber he had been using and removed the blankets from the straw mattress. He wrapped them around himself before pulling up the chair by the window. He sat down with a sigh, and stroked her tousled hair back from her face.
As he looked at the young beauty in the dim glow of the fire, he knew she had to be completely innocent. It must have been the shock of seeing her beloved husband dead which had affected her mind. No doubt she tried hard to block out the vision of the gaping head wound during the day, but at night, it came back to haunt her.
Lochlainn now grew furious with himself for having ever thought that he might one day win her hand. How could he possibly wipe away the love she had obviously felt for Augustine? Not that the lout had deserved it, curse him, but Augustine and Christopher Caldwell always had had the damnedest luck.
Alas, it hadn't rubbed off on him or his sister Ciara, who had begun acting strangely again, he recollected wearily. She'd been moody and odd ever since he'd told her he was going to stay up at the house for a time to keep an eye on Muireann.
Lochlainn must have eventually dozed off, for he awoke as the first rays of dawn were just filtering in through the cracks in the shutters. He straightened and found he had slumped forward, and been sleeping with his head next to Muireann's on the pillow.
Stiff as a board, he rose from the chair and dragged his blankets away. The last thing he wanted was for her to find him in her room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For the next three days, Muireann seemed more rested, and appeared to be her normal calm self. But every night, he insisted she take the sleeping draught. Every night she turned into a wailing banshee. Lochlainn would run in and hold her until she calmed, and at last lay back on the pillow and slept soundly and peacefully.
He always forced himself to sit in the chair by her side. What if she should wake up and find him in the bed with her? It would be bad enough trying to explain what he was doing in her room.
He always made sure he left her chamber before she could waken, so that she would not feel embarrassed about his presence there. She seemed determined to deny that anything was wrong the few times he had tried to broach the subject. She grew more distant from him the closer he tried to get to her.
Muireann struggled desperately to pretend things were normal, but the more concerned Lochlainn got, the closer he got to her, the more she wanted him.
She tried to tell herself it was wrong, unseemly. But they were such close companions in every other way. Surely hugging and kissing couldn't be so wrong? She had been brought up to believe that women who desired men that way were hussies, but her heart told her a different tale.
She looked at Patrick and Siobhan and the other married couples around the estate. They all seemed to be so happy, affectionate and loving towards one another. Why did she have to deny herself what she desired most just because she had been deceived, and because of ridiculous class divisions?
Muireann had met many men over the years, but never one with whom she could behave completely unreservedly. With Lochlainn, she could talk about anything, and usually did, but she made sure that they were seldom ever alone as they had been in the past.
I mustn't give in to the temptation, I mustn't, she thought with a shudder, as his hand rested on her shoulder perilously close to her breast at one point when they were out in the farmyard. I want him, but what would he think of me?
"Are you homesick?" he asked her, at a loss to explain her puzzling behavior. "Are you tired of Barnakilla already?"
He looked so sorrowful, Muireann quickly refuted his suggestion. "No, not at all!"
"What is it, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"I can't understand you. You go off for hours at a time by yourself. I hardly ever see you, and then it's only in the kitchen with half the estate there. Please, I know there's something on your mind. Won't you confide in me? Perhaps I can help."
Muireann shook her head. "I have to do this on my own, Lochlainn. I told you, I don't want to be dependent upon you. I'm very grateful for all you've done, of course I am, but I need to be strong. Mr. Blessington's trial will be over soon, and then perhaps I'll feel more settled."
"I'm not doing it for the sake of your gratitude!" Lochlainn spat. "I care, Muireann, you know I do!"
"I know, or else you never would have come to Barnakilla to help out your sister and all of your old friends," she replied, mistaking his meaning.
"Damn Barnakilla!" he muttered under his breath, and stalked away before he made a complete fool of himself.
It was absurd. She felt only gratitude towards him. It would be a mistake ever to try to g
et close to her romantically. He wanted Muireann to want him for himself, not for the estate.
But as soon as he framed these thoughts in his head, he realized how absurd it sounded.
"How could she ever want me? I'm the estate manager, nothing more," he muttered aloud.
Lochlainn went down to the timber cutting and took his frustrations out on a large number of tree trunks, until he was absolutely numb with exhaustion.
Then he headed into town for some provisions, and stepped in at the doctor's on the way back to Barnakilla. He explained Muireann's odd behavior, and asked for Dr. Fredrickson's advice.
"It is a potent drug. It isn't really meant to allow the patient to dream, but perhaps Muireann is reacting to the narcotic. It might be giving her sick fancies. Give her less this time, just enough to make her drop off to sleep, but not enough to render her unconscious all night," Dr. Fredrickson advised.
Call Home the Heart Page 17
