“You’re the one livin’ here by yourself, brother,” Sean countered. “Bloody fool, is right.”
“What do you know of it, pray?”
Sean threw down his rag and faced him fully. “I know you keep yourself here, like some exile. I know that you want to go to the house. To see your son. To see her.”
Patrick’s hands clenched into fists, but his anger wasn’t toward Sean. Nay, it was directed inward. “I won’t talk about this to you,” he grumbled.
Sean’s mouth thinned to a line, but he said nothing more.
Patrick stalked out the back door and headed for the woods. To the place of his sin. At least he had hope he could escape his wicked thoughts there. He could howl up at the trees. He could pray to God for forgiveness. He had to find relief. Somehow.
***
Tara heard the muttered profanities, the thrashing around in the woods just ahead of her. She trembled, her mouth going dry. There was something familiar about the timbre of that cursing voice. She glanced about the woods, seeing nothing but trees and underbrush and gnarled roots as she had the past half hour. And yet there was something familiar about these particular trees and underbrush and gnarled roots. Then she saw it up ahead. The clearing! She was near the clearing where Patrick first took her after that crazy time jump or whatever it was.
She rested one hand against a tree’s rough bark and held herself still, waiting to hear that grumbling voice again. Her heart raced as she held her breath.
“Bloody stupid bastard!”
Her heart slowed its rapid beat as she recognized the man’s voice. Patrick.
She pushed away from the tree, her heart racing for a different reason now. As she stepped into the clearing she saw him, pulling at his hair and hitting himself in the chest.
“Weak-willed, rutting pig!” he cursed.
More profanity, accompanied by odd curses she’d never heard before, spilled from his anger-twisted mouth as he paced. He was like a madman. Or a wounded animal. Fear and longing warred within her. She sensed a sadness clinging to him beneath the anger. Then she glimpsed the track of tears on his cheeks and felt his hopelessness to her soul.
“Lust-driven, son-of-a—”
“Patrick,” she called.
He whirled on her, his blue eyes wild, and she stumbled back a step.
Recognition soon settled on his face. He blinked rapidly and took a step toward her. “Tara?” Suddenly he turned away to shake his head. “Get out of here, Tara. Leave me!”
Tara saw it then. That same something she had glimpsed in Devlin’s eyes in those brief lucid moments.
She held herself still again, refusing to give in to the urge to run from these woods. To run from him. Using all the skills she’d honed over her years of study, she gathered her knowledge and strength around herself. A gentle yet firm touch. That’s what was needed.
“Patrick, please,” she said.
He grunted, shaking his head. He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving the red-gold strands standing on end. “It’s no place for you, Tara. Not here with me.”
He turned from her, leaning one arm against a tree as his breath came fast. She looked at him then, taking in the scuffed boots, the rumpled clothes. He’d been out here for some time, pacing and cursing himself. But, why?
Something pulled her closer to him despite his words to the contrary. He touched her heart as his son did, touched a place that even the children in Indianapolis never had.
Tara stepped closer and gently touched his left shoulder.
Patrick let out a howl and twisted away from her.
“Leave me, Tara!” he shouted again. “You don’t know what you’re playin’ at here.”
She licked her lips and shook her head. She couldn’t leave if she wanted to. Not now.
“Let me help you.”
His face showed his anguish, and his hope, that she could somehow help him. But still he shook his head. “Nay.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, Patrick. Please.”
He pulled back and froze. She thought he would leave her but in the next moment he reached for her, grabbed her tightly to him. He moved his mouth close to hers. Her pulse raced at the close contact, with fear or passion she couldn’t guess. She could smell him, could almost taste him, and her body flushed with wanting.
“Tara, lass…”
He brushed his lips against hers, sucking in a breath as if he couldn’t live without her kiss. Her heart began to pound again, desire filling every inch of her. She returned his kiss, welcoming his tongue when it begged entry.
She’d never been kissed like this, like her soul had been starving for something that only now was given to her. His hands moved over her back, her bottom, and she leaned closer to him.
The next moment he shoved her away, leaving her gasping for air.
“What’s wrong?” she asked on a breath.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” He faced her, his lips curled. “I’ll show you what’s wrong!” He pulled at his shirt, tugging it out of his waistband. “I’ll show you, damn it.”
He tore off his shirt and for a moment she could only stare at his magnificent upper body, his broad shoulders. Curls of golden hair swirled lightly over his chest, his flat belly, and her fingers itched to touch him.
She fisted her hands. “I don’t—”
“Look!”
He turned from her and she saw it. Five scars high on his left shoulder blade. Red and angry, and raised to almost look like fingers.
His shoulders slumped. “I’m marked, Tara.” The anger was gone from his voice as it broke. “I’m marked as much as Devlin.”
She unclenched her hands and reached toward him. She touched the scars and her fingers began to tingle. He sucked in a breath, his big body tensing. With a growl he turned and pulled her to him.
“Tara…”
Chapter 12
Patrick crushed his mouth to Tara’s once more, tasting sunlight and purity and passion. Again he parted her lips with his tongue, catching her little moan of pleasure as she gave herself as she had moments earlier. His body hardened and he pressed closer still. Her arms circled his neck and he could feel every curve of her through the thin dress she wore. He cupped her round bottom and pulled her up, cradling his sex against her belly.
“Tara, lass,” he moaned.
She answered him with her body, leaning her head back to give him access to her throat. He kissed her there, feeling her racing pulse beneath his tongue.
“Patrick…”
Desire pounded through him, unlike anything he’d experienced before. His body burned, his soul ached. Not even all those times with the Banshee, had passion burned so hot in him.
Guilt slashed through his body and he shoved Tara from him, taking a long gulp of air as his body twitched with unfulfilled cravings. He glanced at Tara, and saw the soft look in her eyes, her kiss-swollen lips.
She held one hand toward him, beckoning. “Patrick?”
“Leave me, Tara,” he rasped. She hesitated, her brow creased in obvious confusion. She stepped close to him and he held up one hand. “Leave me. I’m no good for you. No good for anyone.”
She shook her head, her sable curls tumbling loose now over her creamy shoulders. Again his body screamed for release. It had been so long.
“Nay!” he cried.
She backed away, her eyes round as she held a hand over her mouth. The next instant she turned and ran, stumbling over tree roots and brush as she took herself from him. From the danger of his passion.
Patrick watched her go, his stomach clenching. He reached up with his right hand, feeling the familiar ridges on his left shoulder. They still burned, and yet they seemed… changed. Thinner. He was going daft! ‘Twas a good thing he was living at the workshop. He didn’t know what he would do if he caught a glimpse Tara again after holding her so close.
Aye, but she was sweet in her passion. He’d tasted it on her, had felt it in her every motion. His body ached for release, pounding in rhyt
hm with his heartbeat. He prayed Tara made Devlin well and soon. Then he could get her back to Indianapolis.
And away from him.
***
Tara reached the house almost before she knew it. She didn’t know if anyone saw her in her mad dash from the woods, and she cared even less.
She took a moment to collect herself on the porch. One hand to her hair told her Patrick had disturbed more than her senses. Her hair was a mess, and she had no clue how to fix it without a mirror. Instead she simply took out the few hairpins left and ran her fingers through the curls.
“Whatever.” She glanced down at herself. At least her dress was still relatively straight.
She opened the door and breathed a sigh to find the living room empty.
“Devlin, nay!” she heard Mrs. O’Grady cry.
She ran to the child’s room, finding Devlin acting like a wild thing. His grunts and cries filled the room. Mrs. O’Grady stood in the doorway, her wide eyes showing relief as she saw Tara.
“Oh, Miss Tara. Thank God yer here!”
Tara went to Devlin, finding him twitching and pacing as his father had been. No curses came from him, but the anger and self-loathing was evident on his little face and nearly broke her heart.
“Devlin,” she said in the same firm, gentle tone she’d use with his father.
The child turned, his eyes focused squarely on her face. Tara felt his gaze as if he touched her, both wild and beseeching. He threw himself at her as she crouched down, his arms wrapped tightly around her neck. He shook with silent sobs, but no real tears wet her skin.
“Easy, sweetheart,” she cooed, sinking down to the floor as she cradled him tight. “Easy, Devlin.”
The child continued to cry, burrowing against her for comfort her heart was all too happy to give. In all her weeks of working with the child, she had suspected he’d worked his way into her heart. Now she knew she loved him. And this was the first time he’d initiated any physical contact. The first time he’d longed for such a strong connection to another person.
“Easy, sweetheart,” she said again, her own tears adding to his.
“T-ta…”
She stilled. Did he try to say her name? “Yes, Devlin.” She held her breath for a moment. “Tara.”
“Ta…raaah.”
No more words came from him, but she knew she would hold that softly-spoken word in her heart forever.
“I know, love,” she said, easily using the common endearment. “I’m here with you and you’re okay.”
Devlin took in a shuddering breath and nodded his head, his silky curls tickling her cheek.
“Patrick has the right of it, I wager,” she heard an awed voice say from the doorway.
She looked up to find Sean standing there, his eyes glistening. Mrs. O’Grady sniffed, a smile on her face. Seamus offered Tara a grin through his own tears.
“Aye, Sean,” Seamus added softly, nodding his red head. “Tara’s the one.”
His words, spoken with such conviction, touched her heart and she tightened her hold on Devlin. The boy sighed, and she felt the tension at last leave his little body. His spirit called to her and she happily surrendered all the tenderness she had within her. She couldn’t help but wish she could reach the boy’s father as she had the son.
That evening at dinner, Devlin was as silent as always. Yet Tara noticed his eyes continually settled on the people around him. He was coming back to his family. He was making those connections so integral to his recovery. She now believed he wasn’t Autistic. No, for no progress she’d ever seen or read about was as startling and sharp as Devlin’s.
She took some pride in his progress, because it seemed that all those grants and scholarships hadn’t been wasted on her studies. But something inside Devlin, that same something that kept him from his family, was easing its hold on his soul. She just wished she knew why. Then she could make sure it left him forever and he could have the childhood he deserved.
“More bread then, laddie?” Mrs. O’Grady asked the boy.
Devlin didn’t nod his head but he looked directly at the woman for a moment. The housekeeper smiled and placed a roll in front of him and stood watching as he began to eat it.
“You like that bread, Devlin,” Sean said, taking on Tara’s mode of addressing the child.
Tara gave him a nod of approval and Sean reddened. But she didn’t miss the gaze of affection toward his nephew. Yes. Devlin was coming back to his family. If only his bloody fool of a father could be here to see it.
She started. When had she started to assimilate herself into this place? Into this family? She held her trembling hands flat on the table, her head suddenly light.
“Tara, lass?”
She glanced over to find Patrick’s uncle wearing a slight frown.
“Hmm? Yes, Seamus?”
“You be all right, lass? You seem a bit peaked.”
She shook her head and offered him a shaky smile. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
Devlin stared at her, and she felt his regard to her soul. Before she could stop herself she reached out to tickle him. He froze, but didn’t pull away. One corner of his mouth twitched and her heart lifted. She knew the beginnings of a smile if she ever saw one!
“I’m just tired, Seamus,” she said again, her eyes still on Devlin. “Gee, I hope I’ll be able to tell Devlin some stories tonight.”
His little chin bobbed an enthusiastic answer and everyone around the MacDonald table laughed and nodded.
She’d make sure Patrick saw Devlin’s improvement firsthand. She was still convinced the man was integral to his son’s recovery. How could she ignore the fact that both father and son were wild and sad this afternoon? Braunach were magic, though she knew precious little about them. If she doubted the connection between Patrick and Devlin, there was no denying it now.
Tara finished her meal, telling herself to focus on the child’s development instead of his father’s apparent deterioration.
***
Patrick sat on the pallet set in one corner of the workshop, his head in his hands. Another sleepless night behind him, he stared at the plank floor and let his mind take the course his dreams had.
Disgust filled him. Why had he touched Tara? She didn’t deserve his attentions. She was there for Devlin, and not by her own accord. Nay, he had ripped her from her home and her time to help his son.
But for those brief moments he’d held her? She was good and pure and the promise of redemption was evident in every word. Every movement. Her kisses were sweet and hot and she fit him perfectly. His body reacted as swiftly now as it had in the clearing. Aye, she would be beautiful in her release. Would she cry out his name as she took her pleasure?
He cursed, low and soft. His lust had brought punishment on both him and Devlin. His dark weakness had placed Devlin firmly in the prison of his soul. Nay. Patrick wouldn’t let his passions rule him again. He wouldn’t take the one pure woman he’d ever met and expose her to that fate.
Luke spoke of Tara often, extolling her virtues by way of his wife’s opinions. Patrick knew he shouldn’t discount Brianna’s views. The Pixie had a way of knowing what was inside people in addition to her own magical talents. And little Bryce had taken to Tara immediately.
He glanced at the clock. At least his work would soon fill his hands if not his head. Sean would add his vocal opinions today, though. But even Sean’s baiting wouldn’t vex him today. Not if listening to the pup gained him information about Devlin. And Tara.
***
Tara sat in the gardens with Devlin, unable to get the boy’s father out of her mind. Another week was behind her and she still made no progress in working through Patrick’s problems. Or her feelings for him.
“Ta…ra,” Devlin said as he stepped close to her.
She smiled brightly at the boy and wrapped him in her arms. In the past few days he’d called her by her name now and then, earning hugs and kisses and accepting the affection with stoicism. But she was deli
ghted to notice that he didn’t pull away from her anymore. She kissed his cheek and quickly released him.
“Go get the ball, Devlin,” she instructed.
He stared hard at the ball, intent clear on his face. For a moment she expected the toy to fly into his hands, something his cousin Bryce could probably do without much trouble. But it seemed the only magic Devlin possessed was the ability to wrap her around his finger. She loved the child. And that made Patrick’s avoidance all the harder on her.
Devlin picked up the ball and tossed it to her. She had to reach, but she caught it with a whoop of encouragement. The shadow of a smile, though broader than the previous day, she believed, crossed his little face.
He walked to the row of dolls set on the low garden wall and she held her breath. Sean brought them to Tara just yesterday, but she hadn’t used them in Devlin’s therapy yet. She wanted the child to accustom himself to the representations first.
Sean told her Patrick had made them in the workshop, and the detail on the faces was remarkable. Each soft leather doll represented a member of Devlin’s family, down to the little strawberry-blond boy with the solemn features. Devlin picked up the toy child, staring hard at the face.
“That doll looks like you, Devlin,” she said, coming to sit beside the dolls on the wall. She picked up the one with brown hair, a young woman she assumed was meant to be her but far prettier than she thought she looked. “And this is me, I think.”
Devlin took the doll from her and placed it next to the Devlin doll. “Ta…ra.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
He held the two dolls close to his chest with one arm and reached toward the others on the wall. Sean and Patrick were both represented, but he reached toward the stockier image of Seamus. It wore a bright green ribbon, and was the only doll sporting any adornment.
“That’s Uncle Seamus,” she said. “He loves Devlin.”
Devlin smiled and gave a slow nod. He touched the Sean doll, running his fingers over the black hair on its head.
“And your Uncle Sean,” she said.
He nodded again and held his hand over the Patrick doll. The slight tremble of his hand told her he longed to touch the doll. His little face wore a frown and she felt his reluctance.
Patrick's Promise Page 11
