by Ruth Langan
Colin frowned. “You see? I am mad.”
“You are an O’Mara. It is that simple. I have always known that we are not like other men.”
“But I am not like you and Father. I have always been in frail health. And Father once said that my only salvation would lie in service to God.”
“Colin, there are many ways to serve Him,” Kieran said gently, “and every man must find his own way.”
As Kieran walked to the desk and opened a ledger, Colin remained by the window. “If you had the chance to live our adventure over, would you?”
“Nay.” Kieran’s reply was instantaneous.
“Why?”
He placed both hands on the desk and lifted his head to meet his brother’s eyes. “Because it is not over, Colin.” He thought of the stranger who had invaded Megan’s chambers and the taunting words of the jailer. “I fear it is far from over.”
But though he could not admit it to his brother, there was another reason he would not care to live their adventure again. Megan. Ever since she had leaped into his life, sword drawn, eyes flashing, she had been on his mind far more than he cared to admit. The woman had him tied in knots. She was a complication in his life that he had not bargained for. And one that, in this uncertain time of his life, he should not permit.
Each day the throng of guests swelled as word traveled the countryside that the lords of Castle O’Mara had returned. The villagers called to pay their respects and to ask about the Lady Fiona, who had long been missing from their land. Often they brought gifts of welcome. The pens built around the stables soon filled with bleating lambs, squawking chickens and quacking ducks.
Warriors and chieftains came to welcome Kieran back to his rightful place as leader among their people. They came flanked by men hardened from years of battle.
Among such visitors was Terence O’Byrne, whose fierce orations at the court of Elizabeth in London had earned him the name Defender of the Faith by his loyal people.
He arrived at dusk, with a dozen riders accompanying him, just as the assembly had gathered to sup. Mistress Peake scurried around, ordering the servants to see to preparing additional rooms and readying extra places at the table.
While the others milled around, Kieran and Colin stood with their mother to greet their guests.
“’Tis true, then.” Terence O’Byrne, a tall, handsome man whose hair was shot with silver, clasped Kieran by the arm. His dark eyes were piercing. His voice, when he spoke, was rich and resonant. “You have walked away from Fleet and lived to tell about it.”
“Aye, Terence.” Kieran greeted him warmly, then turned to offer his hand to the man’s son, who stood proudly beside him. “Conor. Welcome.”
Conor O’Byrne was a head shorter than his father and bore him little resemblance. His body was stocky and heavily muscled. His dark hair curled around a ruddy, handsome face. Unlike the voice of his gifted father, his quiet voice could barely be heard above the din.
“We feared for your safety,” Conor said. “Few men survive Fleet.”
Terence O’Byrne kissed Lady Katherine’s hand, then turned to her younger son. “Colin,” he said in a booming voice as he clasped the young man’s arm. “You not only survived that evil place, you appear to have thrived.”
“Aye. Though I would not recommend an English prison to restore one’s health.”
Colin’s lips were curved in a wide smile when Terence O’Byrne suddenly stepped aside, revealing a beautiful young woman standing directly behind him.
She pushed back the hood of her cape, revealing a tangle of dark hair that fell nearly to her waist. Her dark eyes were downcast. Her full lips were rounded in a shy little pout.
Colin’s smile disappeared. His mouth opened in surprise.
“My daughter, Cara, insisted upon accompanying us, despite the long and difficult journey.”
The two young people faced each other. Their faces mirrored a range of emotions—shock, confusion, extreme discomfort.
For a moment Colin said nothing. Then, regaining his senses, he brought her hand to his lips. “Cara. When did you leave…” He swallowed and tried again. “When did you come home?”
“I have been home a year now.” Her voice was deep and rich with the brogue of her people.
“Aye. Cara has been home with us since you left for England, Colin.”
“So long.” Colin struggled to compose his senses.
“Come. Let us sup.” Lady Katherine herded her guests across the room toward the long wooden tables where the others waited. Terence O’Byrne and his son and daughter were greeted warmly by those in attendance.
“Mistress Peake has prepared a special meal tonight,” Kieran said as he led Terence to a place of honor beside his mother. Conor O’Byrne took a seat beside Tavis Downey. Cara was ushered to a chair across from Colin.
Throughout the long meal Megan watched as Colin and Cara glanced at each other, then away. When Cara turned to speak to Lady Katherine, Colin boldly studied her profile. But when she turned back, he busied himself talking to Tavis.
As always, Sir Cecil Kettering dominated the conversation. Turning to Terence O’Byrne he said, “Her Majesty still speaks of your powers of persuasion and expresses a desire that you return to court and accept a position within her council.”
“Does she now?” Terence shot his son a knowing smile.
“At least if I was in London, the Queen would know exactly what I was saying, and to whom.”
“Aye.” Sir Cecil assessed the man carefully. “Elizabeth would prefer to have you where she can see you. Her Majesty fears you are fomenting dissent here in your homeland.”
“’Tis not dissent to wish to be left alone, my lord. I ask what any man asks. To live on the land of my father. To see my children, and my children’s children. To welcome the spring rains on a crop that I am allowed to harvest for my own use. To grow old beside the woman I love. And to die in my own bed.”
“That does not sound like the words of a man who claims to be a warrior,” James Kettering said with a sarcastic laugh. He glanced around the assembly. “I thought all of you dreamed of dying with a sword in your hands.”
“It is most probably the way we will all die,” Kieran said softly. “But we can still have our dreams.”
The others nodded.
At his brother’s words, Colin chewed on his lip and stared at the ale in his goblet.
When the servants began serving thick slices of cake soaked in rum, Colin waved it aside. The smile on Mistress Peake’s face dissolved.
Rushing forward, she whispered, “My lord. Are you displeased with the meal?”
“Nay, Mistress Peake.” Colin kept his voice low, reluctant to create a scene. “The food was as delicious as ever. I just have no room left for your cake.”
“Then you are ill, my lord. Will I prepare a potion?”
“Nay, Mistress Peake. I am not unwell.” He emptied his tankard and nearly slammed it down in his frustration. “Leave me.”
“Aye, my lord.” With a look of distress, the housekeeper hurried away.
When their plates were empty, Kieran pushed away from the table and led the way to the great room, where comfortable chairs and chaises had been set in front of the fireplaces at either end of the room. A musician and a dancer had been brought in to entertain. The musician began to play the lute, and the pretty young dancer began a series of steps. Kieran glanced toward Megan, who was seated beside James Kettering. Clinging tightly to her hand was Bridget, who had become Megan’s shadow in the past few days.
Even now, in his mind’s eye, Kieran could see the way the fiery lass had danced for the soldiers. Her hair had been but a veil of moon dust. Her eyes had gleamed like molten fire. In that forest stronghold she had been a temptress, a seductress. And he had no doubt that her clever, sensuous dance had saved their lives.
Kieran watched as James Kettering leaned close to whisper in Megan’s ear. Kieran’s hand closed around a tankard as the two of them shared
a laugh. He turned away, emptying the tankard in several long swallows. Instantly a serving girl filled it. As he brought it to his lips again, his eyes narrowed on Megan as she crossed the room and paused to speak with Tavis Downey. At the sound of her laughter his stomach muscles tightened. God in heaven. He was jealous. Jealous of every man in the room.
He felt a moment of intense anger as he realized that she could have such an effect on him. Never before had a woman so besotted him.
Very carefully he set down the tankard. It was not whiskey he desired. The thought ripped through him, leaving him feeling decidedly unsettled. It was the woman.
In the middle of the great room the dancer whirled to the strains of the lute. All eyes were on her. All except Kieran’s. He had no interest in the stranger. His only thought was of Megan. Across the room Megan felt Kieran’s dark gaze burn over her, holding her even when she would turn away. With only a look he was touching her. Touching her as surely as if he were holding her in his arms. How was it possible that he could touch her from so great a distance? She shivered.
“Are you cold, my lady?”
Megan turned to James Kettering, who was watching her in a way that made her feel most uncomfortable. “Nay, my lord.”
“You should have a wrap.” Without waiting for her reply, he signaled to a servant, who hurried forward. “Bring the lady a warm cape,” he commanded.
“Aye, my lord.”
The servant whispered something to Lady Katherine, then left the room. A few minutes later she appeared holding an elegant velvet cape. With a feeling of importance, James took the cape from the servant and ceremoniously draped it around Megan, allowing his hands to linger at her shoulders.
Kieran watched without expression. He was suddenly weary of the company around him. Weary of their conversation, their laughter. But he could not leave his guests. Though he longed to be alone, to sort out his thoughts, he was forced to sit quietly and endure. But he did not have to endure young Kettering’s hands touching Megan. Very deliberately he turned and began an earnest conversation with Terence O’Byrne and Hugh Cleary. But though they spoke of Ireland and her future, subjects dear to his heart, Kieran found his concentration broken frequently by the disturbing woman who sat across the room, talking and laughing easily with his mother and the others.
“You arrived at Castle O’Mara at the perfect time.” Lady Katherine clasped hands with Cara O’Byrne. “The villagers are planning a celebration. Already the women have begun baking and sewing for the event.”
“Oh, I hope Father will consent to stay.” The young woman’s eyes brightened.
“Kieran will convince him,” Lady Katherine said. “It would be a shame to miss the games and feasting.”
“Perhaps I could help prepare some of the food,” Cara offered. Turning to Megan she said, “Would you like to help me? ’Twould be a chance to become better acquainted.”
Megan smiled. “I do not know if I can cook, but I am willing to try.”
“Of course you can,” Lady Katherine said. Beside her, Cara nodded vehemently. “It would not be possible for a maiden to grow to womanhood without having learned to cook and bake and sew a fine seam.”
Megan found herself wondering why the thought did not appeal to her. But she wisely kept her thoughts to herself.
“Cara, I will speak to your father,” Lady Katherine said, getting to her feet. “I would so enjoy having you young women around while we prepare for the celebration.”
As she crossed the room, Cara said to Megan, “Lady Katherine misses Fiona more than she admits.”
“Aye. At times, when she thinks no one is looking, there is pain etched in her eyes.”
Beside them, little Bridget listened in silence. Though she shared her grandmother’s grief, she could not speak of it. The pain of her loss was too great to share with anyone. She kept all the terror of her loneliness locked away in her heart.
Without realizing it, the girl’s fingers tightened around Megan’s hand. Instantly Megan wrapped her arm around Bridget’s shoulders and drew her close.
“Are you tired, Bridget?”
“Nay.” Though she had to struggle to keep her eyes open, the child was reluctant to go to bed. It was in the dark of the night that the demons came, threatening to harm her the way they had harmed her father and mother.
Lady Katherine returned with a broad smile. “Your father has agreed to stay on until the celebration is over.” At Cara’s little laugh of delight she added, “Tomorrow we will invade Mistress Peake’s domain and begin baking.” Then, glancing at her elegant gown, she added with a smile, “And perhaps we should consider making some fine new gowns for the occasion.”
“I am an expert with needle and thread,” Cara said with authority. “I shall see to the gowns.”
“What will Megan and I do?” little Bridget asked sleepily.
“You shall be forced to taste everything I bake,” Megan said with a laugh. “And I shall happily wear anything Cara sews for me.”
Lady Katherine’s eyes danced with laughter. How wonderful it was to hear the musical voices of young women once more. And how good to see little Bridget join in the laughter.
Across the room, several pair of eyes watched with interest. Hugh Cleary was relieved to see his old friend’s widow enjoying herself. He gave an admiring glance at the fine figure of Lady Katherine, then forced himself to return to the conversation that drifted around him.
Sir Cecil studied Lady Katherine with a practiced eye. She was still beautiful enough to turn heads. And young enough, he told himself, to miss the pleasures of the bed she had shared with Sean O’Mara. A calculating smile touched his lips.
Kieran heard the sound of his mother’s laughter and felt himself relax. This was the first time, since Fiona left, that he had seen Lady Katherine let go of the pain that weighed so heavily upon her heart.
His gaze slid to the young woman who sat beside her. She held Bridget in her arms, with her lips pressed to the child’s temple. She was unaware that the little girl had fallen asleep.
What a picture they made. She was a breathtaking Madonna, cuddling the child to her heart.
He felt a wave of tenderness as he stood and made his way to them.
Bending, he whispered, “I will carry Bridget to her bed.”
Megan looked up in surprise, then down at the sleeping child. With a tender smile she handed Bridget over to him.
“Come,” he said. “She would prefer that you tuck her in bed.”
“Aye.”
Megan got to her feet and walked beside him.
Cara went on chatting happily. But for a few moments Lady Katherine heard not a word as she watched her son and the young Scotswoman walk from the room.
There was a difference in Kieran since he had returned. But was it brought on by the time spent in prison or was it because of the young woman beside him?
There was a look in Kieran’s eyes. A look she had seen before, in one whose eyes were so like her son’s. It was a look that had made her pulse leap. And had finally stolen her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Megan awoke to the sound of horses’ hooves on the cobbled courtyard. For long moments she lay very still, resenting the intrusion into her pleasant dream. In it she had been carried in strong arms toward a bed. At first she had thought she was a child being carried by her father. But as they drew nearer to the bed, she realized that the man carrying her was not her father. He was strong and muscled, with dark hair and eyes. And the feelings that vibrated through her were not the feelings of a child. Even now, as she lay awake, those feelings lingered.
Sliding from the bed, she padded to the balcony to see what had caused the disturbance so early in the morning. Below, old Padraig took the reins of horses from a group of dark-robed men.
The heavy doors of the castle were thrown wide to admit them, and they disappeared from her view.
An hour later, when she was properly gowned and coiffed, she made her way downstairs
to the refectory. The men looked up as she entered. In their midst were Kieran, Colin and Lady Katherine.
She felt Kieran’s dark gaze touch her and knew there was a flush upon her cheeks. It had been the same last night, when they had tucked Bridget into her wee bed. Though he had not touched her, she had been achingly aware of him beside her in the darkened room.
Kieran watched her and felt again the familiar ache. There seemed to be no cure for it. Each time he saw her he felt a strange warm glow, and each time he touched her he felt a swift rush of heat that made him tremble with desire. Last night, when he had stood beside her in Bridget’s darkened room, he had wanted her with a need that startled him. And when he had left her at the door to her chambers, it had cost him a tremendous effort to simply bid her a gruff good-night and leave her at her door.
“Ahh, my dear.” Lady Katherine held out her hand. “Come and meet our guests.” As Megan paused beside the table, Lady Katherine introduced her to the cluster of robed priests, who smiled and nodded. Then, with obvious affection, Lady Katherine turned to a tall, robed figure whose dark, piercing eyes were startlingly like Kieran’s.
“Megan, this is Bishop Seamus O’Mara, my husband’s brother.”
“Your Excellency.” Megan curtsied and kissed his proffered ring.
“Megan.” Though his manner was kind, it was obvious that he was studying her carefully. “My sister-in-law has told me of your loss of memory. Have you begun to recall anything?”
“Nay, Your Excellency.”
“A pity. But you must be patient. All things happen according to God’s own plan. I will remember you in my prayers, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
When the servants entered bearing steaming trays of food, Megan took a seat beside Kieran and glanced at Colin, who sat across the table, to the right of the bishop. His eyes were downcast, his demeanor subdued.
“I had hoped that you would be ready to leave with us on the morrow,” the bishop said to his nephew.
“Oh, but you cannot leave just yet,” Lady Katherine protested. She related the plans of the villagers. “This celebration means so much to them,” she said. “They cannot be denied the pleasure of welcoming Colin and Kieran home.”
