Patrick's Promise

by JoMarie DeGioia

  He finished with the slippers and weighed them in his hands. Perfect. He longed to put them on Tara’s dainty feet, and to see her face flushed with embarrassment and delight as she thanked him for his gift. He placed them firmly down on the bench and clenched his hands.

  “Sean, you’ll take these to Tara this evenin’?”

  Sean and Luke exchanged a look of confusion.

  His younger brother eyed the slippers and shrugged. “Aye. They be pretty shoes. I’m sure Tara will like them.”

  Patrick gave a nod, his lips pressed in a line. He turned his attention to the stout work boots the blacksmith ordered, seeing nothing but Tara’s delight when she received his meager offering.

  It was a small thing, but his heart felt a bit lighter.

  ***

  Tara sat in the living room with Devlin perched on her lap. She reasoned he should start spending some time in the rest of the household, and staying in the parlor with the family was an excellent start. As they looked at a picture book of animals, Tara named each one and urged Devlin to repeat after her.

  “That’s a cow, Devlin,” she said.

  Devlin screwed up his eyebrows. “C-cow.”

  She praised him and gave him a squeeze. She caught Seamus’s eye where he sat cross-legged in his green chair. The man smiled at her, pleasure in his eyes. Pleasure and relief, which told her he loved his little great-nephew as much as Tara did. She turned her attention back to the book, her mind on Seamus.

  Something about the man was familiar, though she’d not given it much thought over the past couple of weeks. Surely he didn’t remind her of the father she’d never known. And none of her mother’s loser boyfriends had the spark of affection she saw in Seamus’s green eyes. Maybe her favorite advisor, the man who urged her more than once to take advantage of grants and scholarships she’d been afraid she hadn’t earned.

  “You have more talent than you think, lass,” Seamus said.

  Tara started. That was something Dr. Everett had told her time and again. One look at Seamus and she read the twinkle in his eye. Could he know that his offhand comment would have such a reaction? Did the Braunach charm extend to mind reading? God, she was in trouble if that were true. Every day she felt more at home in this place and time than the faraway place she’d had in Indianapolis.

  Dinner tonight had been a quiet one, perfect for a Monday after the fun and noisy affair of the previous afternoon. Yesterday all the MacDonalds had crowded into Seamus’s dining room, fresh from church and looking fine. Mrs. O’Grady had been flush with pleasure to serve all the family. All but Patrick, of course. Tara hadn’t taken Devlin to church, however. The venom the villagers reserved for the innocent little boy still turned her stomach and she wouldn’t expose him to it.

  But after church the two little boys had greeted each other like fast friends, Bryce with a loud hello and Devlin with a nod and smile. Despite the number of people at the table, no one sat in Patrick’s chair. Luke had begun to, but Devlin’s choked denial urged him to leave the seat vacant. Stupid man, that Patrick.

  “Your cousin Bryce asked after you today, Devlin,” Sean said from his place opposite Tara. “He came to the workshop to visit his papa.”

  At the cherished word, Devlin’s head shot up. Tara saw the regret on Sean’s face.

  “Ah… Those are pretty shoes, Tara.”

  Tara hid her smile at his awkward change of subject, but she held out one foot for Devlin to see.

  “Your papa made these shoes, Devlin. Like he made yours. Aren’t they pretty?”

  Devlin reached down to run his fingers over the softest leather Tara had ever felt.

  The little boy gave a nod. “Mac…”

  “MacDonald shoes, Devlin.” Sean grinned. “Aye, you’re a sharp lad.”

  Devlin offered his uncle a smile. Sean seemed to fill the child’s desire for his father, at least for this brief moment. Nothing more was said of Patrick, and Tara returned to their picture book. She glanced at Sean where he sat playing chess with Seamus. He was very handsome and strong. Back in Indy he’d have no problem picking up any woman he wanted, either on campus or in a downtown bar. He was easy going, too. The contrast between him and Patrick couldn’t be stronger. Patrick was as dark as the night and Sean was as bright as the sun.

  Later, after she tucked Devlin into bed, she headed back out to the living room. She stilled as she heard what sounded like an argument between Sean and his uncle, and turned toward her bedroom.

  “’Tis a shame, it is,” Sean grumbled.

  “Don’t be tellin’ me,” Seamus answered. “Bloody fool don’t see what’s before him.”

  “He cares for the lass, Uncle,” she heard Sean say. “He can’t deny it.”

  Tara froze. Seamus made a sound like a grunt.

  “And why shouldn’t he? Our Tara be the finest lass I’ve met. As much as Luke’s Brianna.”

  “She loves the little lad,” Sean said.

  “Aye. And Devlin loves her.”

  A wistful sigh met her ears, though she couldn’t guess from whom.

  “’Tis a pity, to be sure,” Seamus said.

  “I think she loves the fool,” Sean said simply.

  Her heart began to pound. Oh, did everyone know what was in her heart? Did Patrick? Embarrassment filled her and she turned, hurrying to her room. Tears came quickly, but they were blessedly silent.

  It didn’t matter what she felt for Devlin’s father. His heart and soul was held by Devlin’s mother. And the affection the MacDonalds had for her wouldn’t make a difference when she finished her work with Devlin.

  She wiped at her eyes and stared at the plaster ceiling above her very pretty nineteenth-century bed. She wouldn’t think about how comfortable the furnishings were or how well she fit into this life. Patrick wouldn’t be swayed. Didn’t he stay away from his son out of his feelings for the boy’s mother?

  She had spent most of her life in a place where she never truly fit in. She was damned if she’d spend the rest of it in a place where she never would!

  Chapter 16

  Tara swallowed her tears as she watched Devlin playing with his dolls. She planned to order Patrick to return her to Indianapolis, and soon. But she knew leaving his son would break her heart in two.

  The late-morning sunlight streamed through the window behind Devlin, accentuating that quality she’d first sensed and now knew to be magic. He was a Braunach, she knew. And dearer to her than any child she’d know in the real world. Amazing.

  “Tara,” the little boy said, holding one doll close to him. “Tara… loves Devlin.”

  Oh God, how could she leave him?

  “Yes, sweetheart,” she smiled.

  He placed an awkward kiss on the doll’s little face and flashed his shy smile. My, he was a little charmer. That brought her up short. That MacDonald charm was the reason she was here, wasn’t it?

  She settled down beside him, running her fingers over the other dolls neatly arranged on the floor. The Devlin doll was flanked by Sean and Seamus’s representations but the Patrick doll was off to one side, as usual. The child still watched the doll with longing, even scooting closer to it as they played quietly. Emboldened, she lifted the Patrick doll in her hands and held it in front of Devlin.

  “Your papa loves you too, Devlin.”

  A mulish pout twisted his mouth.

  “Nay,” he said.

  She blinked. Such clear emotion showed on his face, and she could read his anger and hurt.

  “Devlin,” she began, touching his shoulder. “Your papa does love you. He’s just…”

  What could she say? He loved the boy’s mother so much he couldn’t bear to look at her child?

  Devlin grabbed the doll from her hand, scowling into the little stitched face. Tara held her breath.

  “I…,” Devlin croaked, his lower lip trembling. He clutched the doll to his chest, his eyes shut tightly. “I want Papa!”

  “Oh, Devlin,” she whispered. She wrapped her a
rms around him, rocking back and forth as he sobbed against her breast. “I know you want your papa. Shh. It’s all right.”

  When he quieted, she lifted his chin in her hand. Tears spiked his long lashes and glistened on his cheeks. Real tears! She wiped at his cheeks and gave a nod.

  “I’ll bring your papa to you, sweetheart,” she said. “I promise.”

  He sniffled and nodded in return, wrapping his arms around her neck. She’d keep her word to him. She would bring Patrick MacDonald back where he belonged if she had to drag his big body the whole way!

  For the rest of the day, she thought of the best approach to bring Patrick home. She feared this would be the greatest challenge she’d ever faced. Her years of psychology and behavioral studies should’ve made it easy for her, but her heart wasn’t engaged in her studies and cases in Indianapolis. She not only loved Devlin as her own. She loved Patrick, too.

  After dinner that night, she tucked Devlin into bed.

  “Good night, Devlin,” she whispered.

  He didn’t return Tara’s kiss good night, but trembled as he buried his head in the pillow.

  “Papa,” he murmured.

  She grabbed the doll from its place on the bedside table and handed it to him, taking a breath as the little boy once more hugged it tight. That was it. She wouldn’t let another day pass with Devlin so desperate for his father.

  ***

  Patrick stretched out on his pallet. The sun was just setting, and he couldn’t wait for sleep to bring him into the next day. The workshop was quiet, and the sound and chaos of the MacDonald house was something he never thought he’d miss. He wouldn’t think about them now, laughing and talking as they sat around Uncle Seamus’s drawing room. He knew Tara would be in the middle of it, so lovely and sweet. She’d truly wrought a miracle with Devlin. Soon it would be time to take her home, though. Damn him and his promise to her.

  He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He’d have to be a real father to Devlin after she’d gone. Would the boy want any part of him? Devlin’s problems were solely his fault. How could he look into his son’s eyes with anything but guilt?

  And Tara…. Lord, how could he look at Tara again after his outburst.

  “Patrick?”

  He jerked his head toward the doorway, stunned to find Tara there again. He blinked and sat up.

  “Tara.”

  She shrugged. “You left the door unlocked again.”

  He couldn’t say anything as he ran his gaze over her. She wore her hair up, as had become her fashion since coming here. A lovely dress of pale yellow made her skin glow in the pink light streaking into the workshop. He saw she wore the slippers he’d made for her, and the gesture filled him with the same pride he’d felt as he watched Devlin play with the dolls. Well, with the dolls save one.

  “You’re here alone again.”

  She waved one hand. “Look, I came here for one reason, Patrick. To bring you to your son.”

  He came to his feet.

  “Ah, lass. We discussed this.”

  She crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side.

  “That was no discussion!” Her eyes flitted over him, warming his flesh. “You tried to charm me into agreeing with you.”

  He turned from her, suddenly realizing how he was dressed. He wore only his breeches. Hell, she’d seen the scar already, damn it! Turning, he faced her again.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Tara.”

  “Neither should you.”

  He sat down on the pallet. “Devlin doesn’t need me, lass.”

  She stepped closer. “He needs you, you fool! He cried for you tonight, Patrick. Real tears!”

  Patrick stared at her. “He cried?”

  She sniffled, and he saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

  “He wants you, Patrick. He needs you!”

  Tara shook with emotion. He stood and wrapped his arms around her.

  “You love the lad, Tara. Aye, you do.”

  She nodded against his chest, relaxing in his hold. Desire bit him hard, in his body and his heart. Ignoring his body’s urgings, he sat on the pallet and pulled her down beside him. He held her for a few minutes, at last releasing her when she seemed to recover herself.

  “Excuse me,” she whispered, pulling out of his arms. “I shouldn’t have.”

  He shook his head and watched her silently.

  “I know how you feel about Devlin’s mother, but—”

  “What?” He gaped at her. “What’s this about his mother?”

  “You still love her.”

  “How the devil could you think that? Tara, lass. I never loved Devlin’s mother.”

  “But you’re still so angry at her.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tara, Devlin’s mother isn’t…. She doesn’t signify.”

  “You said that before, Patrick. But your feelings are so strong for her. You can’t deny that.”

  Patrick snorted. “That witch doesn’t deserve Devlin.”

  Tara stood, turning from him. “You see? Oh, it doesn’t matter.” She faced him again. “Look, marry her if you want to. I don’t care. I’m here about Devlin and I won’t let you distract me.”

  Patrick knew he couldn’t keep the truth from her any longer.

  “Ah, Tara. Let me tell you about Devlin’s mother.”

  She rolled her eyes and held her hands in front of her. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  He grabbed her waving hands and stilled them. “Tara, you have to hear this. It’ll at least make some kind of sense.”

  Tara, her face still showing her disbelief, sat down beside him once again.

  “Tara, Devlin’s mother is a Banshee.”

  ***

  Tara stared at Patrick, unable to speak. A Banshee? A wailing wind? A spirit?

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she blurted out.

  Patrick smiled without humor.

  “A witch, lass. With a beautiful face and an ugly soul.”

  He didn’t sound like a man smitten with Devlin’s mother now.

  “Okay, you’re a Braunach. That I somehow believe. But a Banshee, is it?”

  “Four years ago, lass. She… Well, she tricked me. Ah, I was a willing victim.”

  “You don’t have to tell me this.”

  He grabbed her shoulders again. “But I do. I never loved the witch, Tara. ‘Twas a sin, that lust. And I didn’t know about Devlin until a few days before I jumped to Indianapolis.”

  Tara’s head spun. Devlin’s mother was a witch? An ugly soul, Patrick said.

  “That darkness in him,” she murmured. “That’s what’s been holding so tightly to his little soul.”

  Patrick nodded. “Aye, you have the right of it.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why you refuse to see him. You love him, Patrick. I saw that the first night.”

  Patrick’s brows rose. “Ah, you be a perceptive lass.”

  Tara flushed slightly at his praise. “Tell me, then. Tell me what happened.”

  Patrick stood, nodding his head as he began to pace.

  “For weeks she lured me into the woods, Tara. I can’t tell you how many times I told myself to ignore her call. But she caught me time and again.” He spat out a curse she didn’t recognize. “I knew it was a sin. I never told my family about the Banshee. Or about my dishonor.”

  Tara longed to ask him all of it, but held her tongue. Whatever passion he felt for the Banshee, he had no tender feelings for her.

  He pointed to the scars on his shoulder. “She marked me, lass. As surely as placin’ a brand on my flesh.”

  Tara studied the lines of ridged skin. They seemed fainter than that day in the woods, but it could be a trick of the light.

  “I knew nothing of the child, Tara.” He stopped pacing and faced her. “I swear to God I knew nothing of Devlin until the old witch sent for me.”

  “What old witch?”

  “The Banshee’s aunt. Aye, I know this be strange for you to unders
tand, lass. We Faery folk take this all for granted, being born and raised here in the dell. But family ties, they’re the same among the Faery as among the mortals.”

  She offered him a small smile.

  “I’ve seen the love between Luke and Brianna, Patrick. And she’s a Pixie.”

  Patrick returned her smile, though the expression was fleeting.

  “Aye.” His brow furrowed as he began the rest of his tale. “The old witch sent for me. She was dying and told me I had to take the child. Damn it, Tara. If you’d seen the way he lived with the old Banshee. Like an animal.”

  She reached out and touched him, drawing her hand back as he flinched. She gentled her touch, easing toward him as she would with Devlin.

  “You gave him a home, Patrick. You gave him a family.”

  He eyed her. “You brought him back, lass. You made him part of the MacDonalds.”

  She stared at the floor. “And you have to give him a father, Patrick.”

  He sank down onto the cot beside her. “Nay.”

  The word was rough, as if it came from a place deep inside him. She touched his hand where it lay on his thigh, gently grasping his fingers.

  “He loves you, Patrick. Your family loves you.”

  “They know of my shame, Tara. And Devlin? Ah, I don’t deserve any of them.”

  She longed to touch him, to lift his chin and make him look her in the face as she did with Devlin. But she was afraid he would just pull away. That darkness in his soul kept its lock on him.

  “You are a MacDonald, Patrick. If I learned anything these past weeks, it’s the importance of that distinction. You have your family’s love. You’re so very blessed.”

  He waved one hand.

  “Nay. I’m not worthy of their love.”

  “Oh, you are a bloody fool!” she shouted.

  “How can you say that to me?”

  She jumped to her feet. “They love you! If I were lucky enough to belong to such a family, you couldn’t tear me away from them!”

  He stood, his blue eyes blazing. “Do you mean that, Tara?”