His sister looked at him stonily for a few moments, but then began to relent, moving closer to him to hear him out.
"But it would never work! It is ridiculous to ever imagine she could be happy here living in a hovel. I worship the ground she walks on, but it's completely absurd to imagine she could ever care about someone like me."
"We don't really have any control over whom we fall in love with, now do we?" Ciara observed bitterly.
"Love? Who said anything about love? I was in love once, remember, and she betrayed me," Lochlainn growled.
Ciara sighed, and sat down beside her brother on the bench. "First of all, Lochlainn, the only person Tara ever loved was herself. I never did understand what you saw in her. She set her sights on you one day, and you never even knew what happened until she was gone.
"It was all an illusion, Brother. She liked power, but she never loved you, trusted you, gave of herself. You say you loved her, but I think she held you in thrall with her feminine wiles. I think you're in love with Muireann, deeply in love, but you're afraid of being betrayed by her because of the terrible experience you had with Tara.
"But don't assume all women are the same. Compare the two of them, and ask yourself if there are any similarities, any warning signs that would cause you to fear," Ciara advised. "If you have no reason to mistrust Muireann, then just accept what you have together and be thankful for it, without trying to analyze it all the time. Enjoy it while it lasts, without being fearful all the time that it's going to come to an end. Besides, how do you know she couldn't care about you, unless you asked her?"
"Don't be silly. I couldn't talk to her about something like this! At any rate, I know how Muireann feels. I saw her hysterically weeping over Augustine when he died. She loved him, though God knows why. She's grateful to me for my help and support. But love? It's impossible."
Ciara shook her head. "All right, I'm not going to argue with you about words. I just want to ask you one question. Imagine yourself in five years time, or ten. Where would you like to be, and what would you like to be doing? If you can see Muireann being at your side as part of it, then you belong together, and you do love her.
"If not then, you're better off letting her go on without you. If you don't really care about her, don't trifle with her feelings and lead her on. Just stay away from her."
Lochlainn propped his chin up on both stacked fists. "I do care. I care too much. I can't bear to have her lose her house because of my ideas. I convinced her to come here in the first place. Things have gone from bad to worse ever since. If we can't keep our heads above water, we'll lose everything, and all of Muireann's hard work and sacrifice will have been for nothing."
Lochlainn outlined for his sister the plans Muireann had for the house, making his disapproval of her scheme all too clear.
"Please, Lochlainn, be practical for a moment, won't you? Even if everyone here at Barnakilla were willing to double or triple up in their cottages, how would all the new tenants fit in? So where else is she supposed to put them except the big house?"
Lochlainn scowled silently, but finally he shrugged. "I suppose it is only bricks and mortar. We'll build cottages, and give all these people new homes."
His sister smiled encouragingly. "Barnakilla is nothing but a draughty old place, isn't it?"
"Thank you, Ciara. I'm glad you're such a sensible creature. You've always stopped me from doing rash things."
"Falling in love is rash, but I think she'll be good for you, if the two of you really love each other," Ciara said, a strange expression crossing her wan features.
"But she doesn't love me. She's only just been widowed. She's just turning to me for comfort, that's all."
Ciara shook her head. "You make Muireann sound weak and feeble. She's proven herself strong time and time again. She isn't leaning on you because she has to. It's because she wants to be with you."
She paused and blushed to the roots of her hair. "I've noticed what time you've been getting in each morning recently, Lochlainn. Just remember, a woman never gives herself where she doesn't love, unless she's forced to do it because of his brute strength or her financial desperation. There is no obligation for her to spend the night with you, now is there?"
"No, you're right about that, but again, I just think it's because being a young widow..."
"I'm not going to continue this conversation," Ciara said, coloring to the roots of her hair as she stood up and began to fold some sheets. "All I'm saying is, if you want Muireann to move in here with us, you have only to let me know."
"I couldn't possibly ask her," Lochlainn said with a shake of his head. "She plans to move into the stable block."
"Perhaps it's best to let Muireann do it her way? She has a rather annoying habit of always being right."
"I know you and Muireann aren't exactly the best of friends," he said tentatively.
"That's been all my fault. I'll try harder to like her."
Lochlainn wondered why she looked so nervous. But he was also relieved that at last his sister was starting to act a bit more like her old self. She was far less moody and prone to strange spells of odd behavior now that she was working for Muireann, overseeing the running of the kitchen and the purchasing of provisions. Muireann had encouraged her gradually to take on more and more responsibility around Barnakilla, and Lochlainn prayed that she wouldn't suffer any setbacks.
As Lochlainn trudged over to the nearby row of cottages to put the work details together to start preparing for the new arrivals, he wondered for the hundredth time that day why his life had to be so complicated, and what he would ever do without Muireann by his side.
He might have disagreed with her in the study about the extra burdens she was imposing upon herself to help Colonel Lowry's and Mr. Cole's tenants. At the same time, he knew if their roles had been reversed, he would have done exactly the same thing. Pray God they didn't all suffer for it in the long run.
CHAPTER TWENTY
By the end of the week, all of Muireann's preparations for welcoming the new residents to Barnakilla were well under way. Though many on the estate had reservations about what Muireann was doing, they saw that she had made the offer to the homeless people out of the kindness of her own heart, rather than with any intent to exploit them.
With Lochlainn's encouragement, they all decided it was up to every single one of them to make it work, for all their sakes. They had cast their lots with their new landlady, and would see the thing through to prosperity or ruin.
For her part, Muireann had a new scheme in mind to build up the estate. Her first call was at Colonel Lowry's estate, Castle Lowry. The property was a farm similar to her own, near to the shore, but much more hilly, and with no easy access to the lough.
The house itself was quite gloomy, the original seventeenth-century mansion having been remodeled as a Gothic Castle in 1803, according to the colonel, who gave her a small tour of the downstairs before ushering her into a splendid drawing room.
It was oak-paneled, with burgundy flocked wallpaper, and a variety of leather sofas and fine occasional tables dotted all around the room. Muireann noted the splendid view of the grounds from the mullioned windows with a touch of envy. But certainly the most impressive features of the room were the dozens of magnificent pictures on the wall.
Muireann tried to subdue her anger as she looked at each old masterpiece. Why, the sale of one painting alone would have paid the taxes, without him ever having had to evict any of his tenants. But she needed this man's help. Venting her spleen at his injustice was not going to secure it for her.
"I'm just back from the courts, so you will forgive me if I go freshen up and look through my letters for a moment, won't you, child."
"Yes, of course, Colonel. I shall have plenty to keep me occupied here," she said in a brittle tone, seemingly turning her attention back to the paintings to conceal her distaste for the selfish old man.
After he had left the room, she paced up and down in front of the f
ireplace, rehearsing all the arguments she had formed in her head. He might be much older than herself, but the magistrate was certainly not in his dotage. Greed was a powerful motive, but it alone would not be enough to carry the day. No, she needed logic, and persuasiveness on her side as well.
The colonel re-entered the room several minutes later, followed a short time afterward by a servant with a tray groaning with cakes and sandwiches, which Muireann had to force herself to eat for the sake of politeness.
"Well, my dear, and what can I do for you?" the silver-haired old gentleman said patronizingly as he waited for her to take command of the tea tray. "Milk, two lumps."
Muireann handed him the cup with a sharp look in her eyes which the blustering old colonel failed to detect.
"Well, first of all, sir, I was going to ask you how the court case is coming along. I'm sure that Anthony is doing his best for me, but with all the new tenants I have now, and the taxes and mortgage to pay, things are starting to get a bit tight."
Colonel Lowry smiled slyly. "I find that hard to believe, a woman with you immense business acumen."
Muireann smiled at him prettily. "It's a case of continuous outgoings, and not many incomings at the moment. But I would think it would be in your interests to get the matter settled as quickly as possible in the courts, for I should like to buy your tree plantation and lower pasture."
Colonel Lowry nearly gagged on the tea he was sipping. "Who on earth told you they were for sale!" he spluttered, outraged.
"No one. I'm here to make you an honest business proposal," Muireann replied calmly.
"But I have more sheep arriving any day! Why would I want to give you my pasture land?"
"Because you and I both know that the pasture in question, the one bordering my estate, is divided by the huge forest running along the bottom of your estate from east to west.
"If you sold me the whole forest, along with the pasture, you would have a much smaller but better organized and maintained holding. You also wouldn't have to worry about the sheep straying off into the woods and getting lost or injured. We can redraw the boundaries, and you can enclose the whole with fences to protect your investments. My men will even help build them, so there will be no misunderstandings, and no inconvenience to yourself."
"How do you know I might not want to go into the carpentry or timber business myself?" Colonel Lowry asked gruffly.
Muireann's eyes glinted hard in the firelight. "Forgive me, sir, but may I remind you that you have dismissed all your workers. You've even contracted with me for the shearing of the sheep by my tenants. Where would you get the people to perform the labor? Plus, the trees are mostly Scotch pine and fir, not suitable for furniture at all.
"Even if you wanted to use them for timber, your trees are so high up, it would be impractical for you to transport them by land or water. I'm the only one with a dock convenient to you, and I would hardly let you load them if you were going to try to set yourself up as a business rival to me."
The colonel looked dumbfounded.
"But if I were to allow you to use the docks for your sheep at particular dates during the month, would you be willing to let me purchase the forest and pasture for a reasonable price, to be paid to you as soon as further monies come through from the case against Mr. Blessington?"
Colonel Lowry pondered her proposal silently, and began to see the wisdom of her suggestion.
"It is true, I would have a smaller property, but that would mean lower taxes, less unproductive land for me, and the chance to ship the sheep by sea via your dock would mean I could trade in England, Scotland or even further abroad."
"It wouldn't just have to be livestock, either. It could even be sheep skins, meat products, and so on," Muireann said.
"Well, I would have to consult my son, not only as the eventual heir to the estate, but also as my lawyer. But I think he would agree to it, provided the price were right."
"As I said, you would have to wait for the money from the trial, but if I give you, say, two years' passage rights to my docks, effectively immediately, and you work out the dates with my estate manager, Lochlainn Roche, can we say this figure would be suitable?" she asked, jotting down a sum on a piece of paper with her small pencil.
Colonel Lowry read the slip of paper and tried to bargain her up a bit, but Muireann remained firm.
"After all, Colonel, I do have a great number of mouths to feed," she reminded him, fluttering her eyelashes and simpering like a mindless society beauty.
The Colonel laughed then, and gave in. "All right, I agree, so long as Anthony does as well. It would be churlish of me to refuse so pretty a lady. And you did after all save me the trouble and expense of shipping those no-good tenants of mine to the New World."
Muireann tamped down her rage at his callousness. as she shook him firmly by the hand. "It's a bargain then. How soon would you like to fence in your estate?"
"Well, er, as soon as you like, I should think," the Colonel blustered, wondering why he suddenly felt as though he had been tricked in some way.
"I'd like the papers all drawn up and brought to me as soon as possible. I shall tell Lochlainn to get the men on work detail first thing tomorrow morning."
"Whatever you wish, Mrs. Caldwell," the Colonel replied amiably, convinced by her charming manners into thinking he had nothing to worry about. "I'll contact my son and get the whole process under way immediately."
"Thank you, Colonel. You are too kind." She smiled graciously, resisting the temptation to crow her triumph for all the world to hear.
She accepted his offer to escort her to her mount, and nodded her agreement when he insisted she should buy herself a side-saddle immediately, though behind his back she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
With one last wave, Muireann spurred her horse, and headed off to tackle her next victim.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As Muireann rode down the avenue of Castle Lowry, she was overjoyed at how easy her negotiations had been.
She had not only deprived the colonel of his best hunting land and timber, she had also cut off Mr. Stephens' access to the lough through the colonel's property. She would now be in an excellent bargaining position with Malcolm Stephens.
Though Lochlainn had warned her that he was a lying snake in the grass and someone to be avoided at all costs, she was certain she could gain the upper hand if she played her cards right.
As she rode up to the front door of Malcolm Stephens' house, The Grange, she saw a tall man of about forty, slightly stout, with ginger hair, standing on the steps of the mansion, removing his gloves and mud-bespattered coat while the groom led his horse away around the left-hand side of the house to the stables
He paused on the steps to look at his visitor. He did not recognize Muireann, and since there was no groom about, he descended the steps and offered her a hand down.
Muireann was slightly embarrassed to have been caught riding astride, but there were no ladies' sidesaddles at Barnakilla. She was damned if she was going to waste money on one just for the sake of not shocking the neighbors.
So she swung her leg over the pommel with a flurry of skirts, and rested her hands on his shoulders lightly as he held her waist and made sure she reached the ground safely.
Well, Miss, er. . ."
"I'm Mrs. Muireann Caldwell," she said, extending her hand by way of greeting.
Malcolm Stephens stepped back as though he had been bitten, and snapped, "Then you and I have nothing to say to one another. The groom will be around in a minute, and he will help you back onto your mount." He turned on his heel and strode up the steps again.
Muireann was nothing if not persistent. She ran after him and grasped his elbow. "Please, sir, I know you had differences with my husband, but I run Barnakilla now, and I've come here to discuss business with you!"
"I vowed I would never speak to another Caldwell until my dying day!" he muttered, trying to shake her off as he marched into the drawing room where his wife
, a small dark-haired woman of about thirty-five was busy with two small boys.
"Well, then, I'm not a Caldwell. How do you do, Mrs. Stephens? I'm Muireann Graham." She smiled broadly.
The children could see their father was upset, but the lady was so pretty, they couldn't resist being friendly to her. They both ran up to her shyly, and chorused, "Do you want to see our toy soldiers?"
Mrs. Stephens scolded the boys for their boldness.
Muireann simply smiled down at the two dark-haired boys kindly.
Malcolm Stephens gaped in surprise as she disappeared out of the room, one boy having taken each of her hands to escort her up to the nursery.
His wife's eyebrows lifted several inches, but she was a kind woman at heart, and if the boys, usually shy and retiring, had taken to the strange young woman so quickly, she trusted their instincts.
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