The Ground She Walks Upon

by Meagan Mckinney

  She gazed at Trevallyan while he looked out the window, a hard, pensive expression on his face. What an enigma he was to her. Geis or no, it didn’t make sense that he should have helped Grania and her all these years. It didn’t make sense that he’d treat her as callously as he had their last night at the castle, then leave Lir when Lir was troubled and needed his help, only to see that she was escorted to Antrim on the slim chance of finding some information about her father.

  “You’re staring at me, wench,” he said, seeming almost omniscient, as he had not taken his gaze from the passing landscape.

  Unnerved, she looked away.

  He chuckled. And looked at her. “Do you find me curious?”

  She returned her gaze. “You read my mind.”

  His mouth twisted in self-derision. “If only I could.”

  “I wonder about you. Sometimes you are so noble and yet…”

  “And yet, sometimes I am so wicked, is that it?”

  She nodded.

  He stared out the window to the green Antrim hills. “I’m just looking for my place here on this land. As Malachi is. As you are.”

  “The geis tortures us with the belief that my place is with you.”

  He captured her gaze. His eyes held a darkness she had never seen before. “The geis, my lady, has thrown us together. It has no effect on whether we will stay together.”

  “What will determine that?”

  “I will.”

  The look in his eyes stole her breath. It was lust, violence, and vulnerability combined into one. It tempted joy and ruin with the same dizzying passion. It was possession. Absolute. She found it difficult to look away.

  “Whatever it takes…” he whispered.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, almost expectantly.

  But he never spoke of love.

  Numbly, she forced her gaze back out to the landscape. His powers of seduction wound more tightly around her with every moment she spent with him, and this knowledge sent a shiver of anxiety down her spine. His determination frightened her. She doubted her ability to fight it. He could make her feel passion in its full spectrum of good and bad, right and wrong, but she knew if she surrendered to his demands, he would devour her. He would own her, heart and soul, and she would become a mere foundling at his side, ever hopeful for attention or some kindness, all too heart-wrenchingly aware that she would never have his love. Because a man such as he could never give his love to someone he considered beneath him.

  She thought of the man they had come to Antrim to find. Her father. She wondered if he was really the knight she desperately wanted to believe he was. He might have been like Trevallyan. A nobleman who’d consumed a poor maiden in his path, then abandoned her while she was pregnant, unappreciative of the misplaced loyalty that had kept Brilliana’s lover’s name a secret to the grave.

  A loud crack jolted her out of her depressing thoughts. The carriage heaved and she tumbled forward to the floor. If not for Trevallyan’s steadying hand, she might have hit her head on the now gaping door jamb.

  He brought her to her feet. Gathering herself as best she could, she stuttered, “Are we b-being attacked?”

  His expression was lean and hard. “It seems like we’ve broken an axle. I’ll check it.”

  She grabbed him so hard even he looked surprised by her passion. “No. I’ve a bad feeling about this. You might be ambushed again. Perhaps the boy-os are up to their tricks again.”

  “Do you think they would kill me here in this desolate spot, where there’s no show of it?” Pensively, he ran his knuckles down her cheek. “I think not.”

  “I still can’t shake this notion…”

  Her words dwindled as he exited. Without pondering the consequences, she immediately followed, allowing the carriage driver to help her descend the now lopsided vehicle.

  The two men knelt beside the vehicle and looked beneath it. Brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes, she leaned against the carriage and squinted into the surrounding woodland. All was quiet.

  “The axle is splintered. No doubt about it,” Trevallyan said, joining her. Walking up the road a bit, the carriage driver went to the next hill to see if another vehicle was in sight. She felt a strange fear as he turned to them and shook his head. No carriage was coming.

  “Should we walk back to Hensey?” she asked.

  Trevallyan said nothing. He kept his eyes on the carriage driver.

  When the man returned, he stood next to them, scratching his russet-colored beard as if he were afraid to be the next one to speak.

  “What do you think we should do, O’Malley?” Trevallyan watched the man with a gaze as sharp as a falcon’s watching a field mouse.

  “Can’t say as I know, my lord.” The chubby man crossed his hands over his large gut as if to appear he was thinking hard on the alternatives.

  “Cinaeth Castle is farther than the last town, is it not?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Then we should all go to town.”

  “If you think it best, my lord.”

  “No. Perhaps we should head toward Cinaeth. Ravenna will rest better at the castle.”

  Ravenna’s gaze whipped from one man to the other. She was astonished to see O’Malley begin to sweat.

  “You could take her there, sir … but the town is much closer.”

  “Aye.”

  “And you canna be stayin’ here. Not with a lady and and no way to defend yourself.” O’Malley gave her a slightly uncomfortable glance, and Ravenna was suddenly struck by the notion that she knew the man behind the beard. His face was familiar; she agonized trying to recall who he was.

  “Of course. You know this country best, O’Malley. Aren’t your people from Antrim?”

  “County Mayo, my lord. Teh name O’Ma’ille cums from the Gaelic word for chieftain.”

  Trevallyan leaned back against the carriage. Ravenna knew she would not want to be O’Malley beneath that terrible stare.

  “Interesting.… Interesting.…” Trevallyan commented, his dispassionate tone incongruous with his piercing stare.

  “Shall I get the bags, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  Trevallyan grabbed Ravenna’s hand and began to walk arrogantly in the direction of town. “Just bring us a couple of valises. We’ll meet you at the public house. From there you can procure us a new carriage.”

  “Very good, my lord.” O’Malley gave Ravenna a last parting look; a worried look. “Take care, miss,” he called to her. “The road ahead may be rough.”

  “Aye,” Ravenna whispered before Trevallyan hurried her away.

  Together, they trudged up the steep hill toward town. Unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer, she hissed, “I don’t think we should be going this way. ’Tis dangerous.”

  “Don’t you trust Sean O’Malley?” he asked lightly.

  “Sean O’Malley.…” The name definitely had a familiar ring to it. She picked up the dragging hem of the expensive purple wool cloak that she had retrieved from a trunk and repeated the name to herself a couple of times more. Then realization dawned.

  “Sean O’Malley!” she said in a near-hysterical whisper. “I remember him now. He’s changed so much—why, he used to be a tall, thin youth. He ran with Malachi and … well … and with…”

  “You?” Trevallyan asked, raising a wickedly slanted eyebrow.

  “Yes,” she confessed, her answer hushed and frightened. “We were only children, but I would guess Sean is still running with Malachi, and if that’s the case, then—”

  “Then when we get to Hensey, I’ve got quite a surprise coming, haven’t I?”

  “We’ve got to turn back—”

  His arm slipped around her waist and he said evenly, “Don’t even think of turning back to O’Malley. He might shoot me right on the spot and not bother making an example of me.”

  “But then we’ve got to run into the woods. We can’t go to Hensey.”

  “Did you help plan any of this
?”

  She stared at him in mute disbelief. He’d made love to her. How could he think she would intrigue to kill him?

  He continued, overlooking her silence. “The carriage axle was sawed. Amateurish job, I would say, but who am I to criticize those who would see me dead? I can’t fathom their purpose in this life any more than they can fathom mine.”

  “Please, I had nothing to do with this. I haven’t seen Sean O’Malley in years. I didn’t even recognize him, he’s changed so much. Now we’ve got to hide from them.…” The hill loomed. The town of Hensey was a mile or more on the other side, but it was reckless to be walking in that direction when the most likely greeting would be in the form of a lead ball. At her back she could feel O’Malley’s distant presence. They were trapped. If they didn’t run now, Trevallyan—maybe both of them—would be killed.

  “O’Malley’s father worked for me. I thought when he offered to take Seamus’s place he would be a loyal man.” Trevallyan’s mouth turned downward, as if the betrayal disturbed him deeply.

  “The only thing older than the ogham in Ireland is a grudge. You cannot know why O’Malley turned against you. It probably has nothing to do with how fairly or unfairly you treated his father and more to do with who his friends are.”

  “You have the same friends,” he said, with something akin to black amusement in his voice. “Are you leading me into the snare? Are you telling me to flee, only to lure me to where they really wait? It would be a brilliant plan because, of course, I would go with you.”

  She stared at him, shocked at his ideas, perplexed by his attitude. He had been shot before, his driver had even been killed. There was clearly a trap laid ahead, and yet he was calmly walking to Hensey, arm in arm with a woman whom he nonchalantly questioned as a conspirator. By the looks of things, he had every right to suspect her. In some ways, he would be a fool not to. But he wasn’t angry; nor was he afraid. He seemed strangely accepting of the circumstances, whatever they might bring. He seemed to want the truth, even if it was ugly.

  “I’m not the kind of woman to lure a man to the woods so that my friends can slaughter him,” she said, the sentence bitter and foreign on her tongue.

  They had reached the peak of the hill. Without commenting on her confession, he turned and nodded to O’Malley, who stood in the distance by the broken carriage. Sean had gotten the valises in hand and was just now beginning to follow them, many hundred safe paces behind.

  “It wouldn’t pleasure you to see me killed?” he asked, not looking at her, his profile fine and handsome in the afternoon sunlight. “I know at times I’ve seen something much like hatred in your eyes for me. You blame me for what happened between us at the castle. Too,” his expression held a strange dark mirth, “let’s not forget, I’m holding you prisoner.”

  She shook her head, her expression taut with fear and disbelief. “I wouldn’t harm anyone like this. It’s not my way.”

  He kissed her mouth, his lips warm and tender. She wondered if it weren’t almost for O’Malley’s benefit. “Then I’ll run with you, away from this danger. On the other side of the hill, take me by the hand and leave the road.”

  “I—I will but—”

  He looked down at her and began to lead her farther along the road. “But what, my love?”

  “But how can you know to trust me? I could very well be luring you into a trap. You know I know both Malachi and Sean…” Her voice turned low and full of despair, “and at times, you know, I’ve taken their point of view.”

  “If you lead me to my death, then I would rather find it holding your hand than not.”

  She swallowed the lump of terror in her throat. It went against all reason to care for this man. He was difficult, arrogant, and sometimes, as now, she suspected he was just plain mad. But then, as now, he could touch her emotions as could no one else. For all he knew, she could promise to help him and lead him straight to a pistol. He was an intelligent man, and he’d been rough with her these past days. He knew full well the animosity she held for him, and he knew who her friends were. But he now placed his life into her small hands.

  Fighting the urge to look back at O’Malley, she allowed Trevallyan to calmly lead her along the road, her arm in his, until they disappeared from O’Malley’s view on the other side of the hill. As soon as they were out of sight, she ran with him down the hill and leapt across a rain-filled embankment. The woods were deep and thick on this side of the road, and they left no trail as they might have if they had fled through a dense field of rye.

  “Has he seen us?” she cried, forcing herself to muffle her voice.

  “Perhaps, but perhaps not. Just keep going.”

  She took his hand and pulled him deeper into the woods. The elms grew close and tangled, casting the forest floor into darkness. They ran until they broke into a field of scrub hazel. Finally, they came upon a stone wall that had turned green with moss and bracken.

  “Is this where you’ve brought me? To a dead end?” With a strange light in his eyes, he grabbed her waist and pulled her to him.

  “Where should we run?” she asked, panting from their flight, wildly looking about.

  “’Tis for you to say.” He gazed to the west. The setting sun flooded the fields in liquid gold. A patch of blooming rapeseed was so yellow it hurt to look upon it. “But the day grows late,” he added. “Wherever we go, we may need to tarry there overnight.”

  “There’s a building in those woods to the north. Can you see the roof?” She pointed.

  “Lead the way.”

  He looked down at her and her heart skipped a beat at the wariness in his eyes. She could be taking him to an ambush, and well he knew it. Even in the morning, he must have been struck by a premonition of things to come. She had noticed him placing a pistol into the interior of his frock coat. Now she wondered if he was glad he had it.

  “Perhaps it’s a strong-farm,” she said, referring to the old medieval hierarchy of farms. “We may get some help there.”

  He said nothing. He only stared at her and held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.

  They crossed through another copse of trees and quickly found the building they had seen in the meadow. To Ravenna’s disappointment, it was not a strong-house, but an old abandoned barn that had not been used since the last century.

  “Is this where your friends await, or is this where we may safely stay the night?” Trevallyan leaned against the moldering stone walls of the barn and crossed his arms.

  She tossed him an irritated look.

  He almost smiled. “Does this mean you want me to go in first?”

  She nodded.

  “Shall I see you again?”

  An innocuous question, but she knew what he meant. He wanted to know if he was going to step inside an empty barn, or meet his Maker by the barrel of a rebel’s gun. Watching him, she decided he was either a terrible fool or a very brave man. Or perhaps both.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” she whispered.

  He gave neither approval nor condemnation. He merely nodded and accepted her words. Taking her hand in his sure, hard grasp, he kicked open the batten door that was almost off its hinge.

  Though she knew there was no trap, a tingle of fear crawled down her spine. It was possible that Sean O’Malley could have somehow followed. He and his cronies, perhaps even Malachi, could be waiting in the dark corners.…

  Trevallyan walked inside.

  There was nothing. Merely a tall pile of dried straw and ramshackle farm tools, broken and left behind. Above, the thatched roof had given partway. Half the barn was protected, the other half open to the velvet evening sky.

  Niall turned to her. She couldn’t stop herself from releasing a giggle of relief.

  “I told you I wasn’t with them.” She squeezed his hand.

  All at once he picked her up off the ground. She gasped in surprise at his laughter while he spun her around. Finally, he let her slip to the ground, her chest crushed against his, her waist locke
d within his arms.

  He stared at her; she couldn’t have looked away if her life depended upon it. He entranced her. Smiling, he appeared young and handsome, so much so, she hardly recognized him. He seemed another man altogether—a youth really—a youth she could see herself falling in love with.

  “My beautiful girl, don’t ever disappoint me,” he whispered.

  “You speak as if it’s my duty to please you.” There was playfulness in her voice, but disillusionment too. She’d yet to know where she stood with him. Did he view her as an equal, or as a whore? As a companion, or as chattel? It hurt to ponder it.

  “No, it’s my duty to please you. But my curse is that I have yet to figure out what will please you.” His eyes darkened. She was trapped by the intensity of the emotion hidden there. “So what will please you, Ravenna? What can I do to win you?”

  “I don’t know.” She believed he hated her answer more than she did, but she had to utter it, for it was the truth. She didn’t know how he could win her. He couldn’t force her feelings. They either bloomed or they perished on their own.

  “Perhaps that’s the wrong course to take with you.” A smile graced his hard lips. Deviltry sparked in his eyes. “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask what will please you. Rather, I should ask what displeases you. For example…” He bent low toward her face. His breath was warm upon her cheek. “Does this displease you?” His lips caressed hers in a feather-light kiss.

  He straightened and studied her.

  Blushing, she shook her head.

  “Are you telling me to stop, or are you telling me that my kiss does not displease you?” He caressed her lips with his thumb.

  “It does not displease me.” She could feel her cheeks turn to fire. The evening darkness was quickly becoming a blessing.