Violet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  Bess turned away from putting the loaves in the oven. “Chores first.”

  Shannon nodded. “Of course.” She excused herself from the table and got the straw broom and feather duster. “I’ll start in the parlor.”

  The vicarage was not a large residence, consisting of six rooms on two floors, and it did not take long to complete the chores that were part of Shannon’s daily routine. The parlor was swept clean; the furniture once belonging to Mary Kilmartin Stewart was lovingly dusted. Shannon took less time with Thomas’s study, for it was a room that did not invite her presence. Shannon made her father’s bed, swept the floor, and gathered clothes for washing. Bess took a few minutes from her baking to check Shannon’s work and grudgingly admitted everything was as it should be. Before she could change her mind, Shannon took her shawl and basket and hurried out the door.

  Shannon’s spirits lifted the moment she was walking down the narrow path away from the cottage. On either side of her was a neat row of pink and white rosebushes she and her mother had planted years ago. Shannon still nurtured the flowers as a tribute to her mother, though Thomas thought the activity was foolish. She walked more than a half-mile along the main road, skirting the edge of the wood, before she saw the path she must take to reach the best berries. Though the sun was out, pinkening Shannon’s cheeks, the air was cool, and she was glad she had the loosely woven white shawl about her shoulders. Her pace slowed as she entered the wood. The trees were in full bloom, blocking the sunlight and providing shade that would have been welcome on a day less cool.

  Humming softly to herself, Shannon swung the basket at her side as she went deeper into the wood. She paused long enough at the brook to remove her shoes and stockings and then started across the water haltingly on a series of moss-covered stepping stones. Icy water lapped at her toes and her face was a study in concentration as she struggled to keep her balance. She regretted that she had not searched for a shallower crossing. She measured the depth of the rushing water around her and realized that if she slipped, she would have further cause to regret that she could not swim one stroke.

  When she safely reached the other side, she gave a little whoop of laughter at her success and fairly danced as she continued on her way. As soon as Shannon reached the patch of wild strawberries, she took her shoes and stockings out of her basket, laid them aside, and set about her task earnestly. Shannon ate one berry for every ten she picked and her lips were soon tinted a kissable red that would have brought a blush to her cheeks had she but known it.

  She ignored the ache in her shoulder as she stretched to pluck the juicy berries from their stems, and she was unaware of the slight grimace about her mouth that bore evidence of her pain. When she had filled her basket, Shannon put it aside and lay back among the greenery, basking her face in a patch of warm sunlight. Shannon’s intention of resting only a moment was abandoned without conscious thought. The restless night she had spent took its toll, and she fell into a deep sleep.

  “I confess,” Brandon Fleming said to his companion, “when you said your estate held places of great beauty, I thought you were only referring to the countryside.” His mouth quirked to one side and an eyebrow shot up as he stared at the girl’s sleeping form below him. His muscular thighs tautened on the flanks of his mount, bringing the restless stallion under control.

  Eric Redmond, Earl of Glen Eden, laughed. His gray eyes crinkled at the corners. “Indeed, that is exactly to what I was referring. This young beauty is something of a surprise, Bran. I’ve never known her to venture to this part of the property before.”

  “You know her then?” asked Brandon, his voice low. He was loath to wake the young woman. Even so, he saw her stir vaguely in her sleep. He realized his mount was creating a shadow across her body, and in deference to her comfort, he urged the stallion forward so the sun’s caress could continue.

  “She’s the vicar’s daughter. Or more to the fact, she is the bastard daughter of Thomas Stewart’s late wife. Her name is Shannon Kilmartin.” He grinned at Brandon’s rapt expression. “Fetching minx, isn’t she? Don’t know that I’d ever attend Stewart’s sermons if it weren’t for young Shannon’s presence in the church. She’s a calming influence when Stewart calls down the wrath of angels.”

  Brandon chuckled. “The vicar’s not a man to mince words, I take it.”

  “Precisely. He’s been threatening the end of the world for as long as I can remember. If he could bring the thing on himself, I’m certain he would do it.”

  Brandon reluctantly turned his attention away from Shannon and eyed his friend. “Why keep him on then? Surely you could find someone more to your liking to take his place.”

  Eric shrugged. “I suppose I let him keep the living for the same reason my father did before me. We Glen Eden men have a soft spot for the Kilmartin women. Shannon’s mother was the village beauty before she married Stewart.” Eric saw Brandon look sharply from Eric’s own finely etched features to Shannon’s softer ones. “I know what you’re thinking, Bran, and the answer is no. My father was not Mary Kilmartin’s lover, and Shannon is not my half sister.”

  Brandon reddened slightly upon realizing his thoughts were so clearly visible. “I beg your pardon.” Then he added somewhat defensively, “You must admit it is not unheard of for a lord to exercise his droit du seigneur.” He could have added that the land surrounding his own home in Virginia was dotted with the illegitimate issue of his father, and his father before him. But he could not share this confidence with Eric. He found the behavior of his forebearers rather shaming.

  Rather than being offended, Eric slapped his thigh and gave a shout of laughter. “You’ve met my mother. D’you think she’d tolerate my father’s excesses?”

  Brandon’s husky voice joined that of his friend. Neither of them was aware that on the ground below them, Shannon was merely feigning sleep now. “No,” Brandon admitted. “I cannot imagine your mother allowing her husband to stray.” The Dowager Countess was a soft-spoken woman with a spine of steel. Even though Eric now held the title, it was his mother who was looked on as the real force to be reckoned with at Glen Eden. That had become abundantly clear to Brandon during his brief stay on the estate. Eric consulted his mother on any number of matters having to do with the management of the lands. “She still misses your father very much, doesn’t she?”

  Eric nodded. “I hope in time she will remarry, but that is for her to decide. Mother has a will of her own.” His voice lowered confidentially. “In fact, it is really her doing that the vicar stays on. She can’t abide the man, but she bears a fondness for Shannon, as she did her mother before her.”

  Shannon was mortified that the master of Glen Eden was discussing her with the stranger, but she was afraid to give any indication that she could hear. Oh, please, she thought, let them go on their way before I expire from embarrassment.

  “Shannon’s mother, Mary Kilmartin, was Mother’s personal maid,” Eric explained. “When Mary took up with a rebellious Irishman bent on creating mischief across the countryside, my mother saved Mary from following her lover to the gallows. She arranged the marriage between Stewart and Mary, promising him the living at Glen Eden in return for taking care of Mary and her child to the Irishman. Mother has often wondered if she did Mary any favor. I’ve heard her remark that Stewart would drive the spirit from a saint.”

  Shannon was astonished to hear these things. It took no small measure of self-control to keep her mouth from gaping. Her mother had never mentioned she had been the countess’s personal maid, and certainly she had never breathed a word to Shannon of her real father. The secret fantasies she had woven about her father over the years were dealt a crushing blow. It did not matter so much that he was an Irish rebel. What tore at Shannon’s heart was the news he was dead. For as long as she could remember she had clung to the unreasonable hope that he would return to Glen Eden and claim her. It was this shimmering illusion that had kept Shannon from the depths of despair when her mother died. Now she h
ad no choice but to admit she was alone. Her throat swelled with tears, and her lashes fluttered to keep the ones behind her lids at bay.

  Brandon caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and his hooded gaze studied Shannon more carefully. “I think our beauty is waking, Eric.” The heated blush that stole across Shannon’s cheeks told him he was correct. “And perhaps she has been awake for some time.”

  Shannon wished the ground would open and swallow her. She was made to feel the eavesdropper when, in truth, she was given no chance to escape the conversation. There was nothing for it but to be on her way as quickly as possible. Shannon sat up, not sparing a glance for either of the mounted riders. Without a word she gathered her shoes, stockings, and basket and got to her feet. “M’lords,” she said in the manner of bidding them good day. She tendered a small curtsy, nothing like the grand one she had practiced in front of her mirror the day before. She took a few hasty steps forward only to have her path blocked by the stranger’s horse. The great stallion pawed the ground and Shannon jumped backward, afraid of being trampled. “Please, m’lord, I would like to pass.” Her head remained bowed and her voice was tremulous.

  “Let her go, Bran,” Eric said. “Can’t you see that brute you’re riding has frightened her?”

  Instead of moving his mount, Brandon leaned over in the saddle and touched his forefinger to the base of Shannon’s chin. Gently he nudged her chin upward until she was forced to look at him. “Violet,” he said softly as if to himself. “I wondered.” He removed his hand and directed his horse out of Shannon’s way.

  Shannon felt as if her feet had rooted to the ground, mesmerized as she was by the face that had been so close to her own. She had always thought the Earl of Glen Eden a most handsome man, but he could only pale in the company of this stranger. His hair was like corn silk, fine gold and white strands that brushed across his forehead and fairly begged to be touched.

  Shannon’s fingers curled at her side to keep from giving in to the impulse that wanted to stroke his hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. In startling contrast to hair that was part sunlight and moonbeams, his eyes were dark, so deeply brown they appeared to be black. There was a bronze cast to his complexion, as if he had gone riding too many days without benefit of a hat, which, indeed, was absent now. His nose was faintly aquiline, suggesting a certain arrogance that Shannon found at odds with the teasing smile that curved his finely molded mouth. But most intriguing to Shannon was his manner of speech. The indolent, softly spoken drawl fell upon Shannon’s ears lightly, creating a musical cadence she found most pleasant.

  “I trust you will not wish to inspect my teeth,” Brandon said, humor lighting his eyes.

  “Oh! N-no, m’lord,” Shannon stammered as the earl’s laughter rang in her ears. She bobbed a quick curtsy. Embarrassed beyond bearing by her study of the stranger, Shannon fled the scene, wishing she were not the object of their mirth.

  It was inevitable, she supposed, that her haste should make her careless. But as Shannon lost her balance on the slick stepping stones, there was no time to refine upon how events could have been different. The basket, berries, stockings, shoes, and Shannon went tumbling into the rushing water. Instinctively she screamed her distress but with no real hope of having it heard. Shannon immediately lost purchase of her shoes and stockings but clung gamely to her basket as she slipped under the water. Thrashing about, she tried to touch bottom and push upward only to discover her gown was as a leaden weight, wrapping about her legs and making it nearly impossible to move. On the surface above her the berries bobbed and were swept away, insensible of her plight. Shannon’s arms swung wildly, and for her efforts, she was brought to the surface long enough to take a gasping breath. Panic made her light-headed as she sunk again. Her fingers tore uselessly at the stones beneath the water as she tried to find something to cling to. The spindly branch of a sunken log caught the sleeve of her gown, trapping her in its skeleton-like fingers. Her struggles served only to secure her more neatly.

  At the moment when Shannon’s mouth opened, wanting air but prepared to take in water, she felt strong hands surround her waist and she was thrust to the surface. Choking and gasping as she drank in great gulps of air, she was not conscious of the arm that slipped around her chest, beneath her breasts, and pulled her to the safety of the bank.

  “Put your hands under her arms,” Brandon ordered tersely.

  Eric did as he was directed and heaved Shannon onto the grassy bank while Brandon scrambled out behind her. Eric slapped Shannon’s pale cheeks lightly, bringing a little color to her face, then pushed her head to one side as she coughed up water. “Shannon? Shannon, can you hear me? You’re safe. Brandon fished you out in time.”

  Shannon did not want to open her eyes and see their faces, expecting their censure. What a graceless, foolish country wench she must seem to them. She put one hand over her eyes and whispered her thanks.

  Brandon grinned, removing her hand. “None of that, sweetings. I won’t be satisfied until I see your dunking hasn’t changed the color of your eyes.”

  Shannon opened her eyes wide, astonished by the thought. “But how could—oh, you’re teasing me.”

  “Guilty,” he replied easily.

  Graceless, foolish, and now gullible. If she were to spend more time with this man, the list of her faults would grow longer than her arm. It was not a happy thought. At the earl’s insistence Shannon sat up, further dismayed to find her mobcap drooping sadly over her forehead. Droplets of water beaded on the edge, then dripped on her eyelashes and cheeks.

  “Here,” Brandon said. “Let me.” Without waiting for permission, he removed the cap and wrung it out. Instead of giving it back he held on to it, much taken by the glistening drops of water in Shannon’s jet hair.

  Self-consciously, Shannon lifted a hand to her hair and felt the sodden bun at the nape of her neck. Only a few pins were left to anchor it to her head, and they defied her attempts to secure them. Her heavy wet hair unraveled to her waist. Uncomfortable beneath Brandon’s regard, she pulled her hair to the forefront, twisted the water from it, and braided it with fingers that trembled. She stole a look at her rescuer, who was hunkered down beside her, and wondered waspishly why he did not look the worse for his ordeal. His linen shirt and breeches hugged his solid frame wetly, but he seemed not at all concerned by the fact. Shannon realized she was bothered enough for both of them. “I must be going,” she offered hurriedly. “Thank you for—”

  Brandon ignored her. “Here, what’s this?” he asked, pointing to her shoulder.

  Shannon glanced down at the rip in her gown, which clearly revealed the two welts made by her stepfather’s cane. “I caught my dress on a branch,” she said slowly. The lie stuck in her throat but she persevered. “I did not realize it had scratched me.”

  Brandon frowned, knowing a lie when he heard one, and wondered why the girl would offer it. He was ready to pursue the topic of the bruises when he saw Eric was shaking his head in warning. Though it chafed Brandon, he let the subject drop. “I see,” he said, not seeing at all. “Well, may we escort you to the other side? I believe that was your destination.”

  For the first time Shannon realized she was still on the wrong side of the brook. She thought her disheartened expression must have been comical, because both the earl and his friend laughed. Gathering the few threads of her dignity that remained, Shannon told them she would make her own way, thank you.

  “I doubt it,” Brandon said, flicking a droplet of water from her cheek. “But you are certainly welcome to try.”

  “Have a care, Bran,” Eric cautioned, seeing the militant light in Shannon’s eyes. “She may push you in.”

  Shannon turned to face the earl, startled that he should have spoken her very thoughts aloud. “Oh, but I would never,” she denied quickly.

  “I know, puss. No matter what the provocation, you would act as a lady should.”

  Shannon sighed, relieved the earl did not think ill of her.
“I must be going, m’lord. Father and Bess will not know what has become of me.”

  Eric doubted very much if either would care, but he kept his counsel. He would have offered Shannon his hand but Brandon was quicker, taking her by both elbows and lifting her to her feet as he stood himself. Eric retracted his hand and dusted his breeches as he rose. A hint of a smile played about his mouth as he noted Shannon’s bemusement. She was quite overwhelmed by Brandon’s attention.

  Shannon looked anywhere but at the man holding her arms. “Please, m’lord, release me.”

  “I am lord of nothing, sweetings,” Brandon said. “My name is Brandon Fleming, and my home is in His Majesty’s Colony of Virginia.”

  Shannon’s eyes widened. A colonial! She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until the earl gave a delighted bark of laughter.

  “Now you’ve done it, Bran!” the earl said, giving his friend a slap on the back. “Frightened her clean out of her wits! A Cambridge education won’t mean a thing to her now that she knows you’ve been raised with savages.”

  Brandon scowled at Eric, dropping his hands and picking up the jacket he had discarded before plunging in after Shannon. He took Shannon’s shawl from her shoulders and replaced it with his jacket. “He is only teasing you,” he drawled softly.

  Shannon lifted her hand and gravely studied the face towering above her. She could well believe the earl, for it seemed there was indeed something savage beneath Brandon’s handsome features. Closing her eyes briefly, she prayed she would never see it come to surface. A half smile turned one corner of Brandon’s mouth upward.

  “I’m so happy I was able to give you an afternoon’s amusement,” she said to both of them, some of her spirit returning.

  That brought a chuckle to Brandon and a quick smile to Eric’s face. “It has been a pleasure,” Brandon said, only a trace of mockery in his tone.