In the Country of Shadows (Exit Unicorns Series Book 4)

by Cindy Brandner

  “What other answer is there right now? Theoretically it’s sound thinkin’ to want peace. But at what cost? Puttin’ down guns on the republican side isn’t goin’ to guarantee the other side doin’ the same. Ye know that well enough, I’m certain.”

  “We will have to turn away from violence as a solution in this country at some point,” Jamie said. “It’s either that or what—continue with the politics of blood and gun until another generation is decimated?” He lifted his wine glass to his lips, and took a good-sized swallow.

  “Easy enough said when ye’re immune to it, livin’ on yer lofty hill away from the hoi-polloi who only have to walk out their garden gate to lose their life. Or be sellin’ milk an’ bread in a mobile shop. Are we to lie down an’ let them keep slaughterin’ us? Is that yer high-minded solution?”

  “No, I’m not fool enough to believe that peace will be anything but very slow in coming. We have to start on the process one day, why not now? After all, tit-for-tat revenge killings just perpetuate this unending cycle of violence, and that isn’t going to get us anywhere except a whole lot more headstones in the cemetery,” Jamie said, the heat in his voice intensifying. She glanced rather desperately toward Pat, but he and Kate were turned around talking to his Aunt Fee, and were not aware of the conversation between the two men—which was a blessing of sorts, she supposed.

  “Tell that to the families who have lost their loved ones to armed thugs breakin’ down their doors at three of a mornin’. Tell that to Pamela, with a gun near to hand all the time, just so she can sleep at night. A woman with wee children, an’ ye know as well as I do that they would kill her without a second’s hesitation. You tell me how we build peace on the back of madmen.”

  “Pamela,” Jamie said quietly, “is this true?”

  Noah answered for her.

  “Ye need not worry for her, her well-being is my business now, an’ I take it very seriously.”

  Jamie leaned back in his chair, a look of cool bemusement on his face. “Do you, indeed? Perhaps then, you should have kept away from her.”

  “An’ what has proximity to you done for her—other than leave her pregnant an’ unwed?”

  “Noah, please,” Pamela said, hoping the desperation in her tone would penetrate at least one man’s anger. Her chest was tight with anxiety, because she knew even the most harmless argument between these two was going to escalate swiftly, and this argument wasn’t harmless in the least.

  She hiccoughed, which was one way insurmountable tension tended to manifest in her. Jamie shot her a sidelong glance.

  “I think we need to cease and desist,” he said smoothly, “as I believe we’re upsetting Pamela. She only gets hiccoughs when she’s especially nervous.” He had the silken smile on his face which could be found in portraits of certain of his ancestors, and which he only assumed when he wanted to annoy the other person.

  “Does she, indeed?” Noah said, not rising to the bait, though she noticed his foot was tapping an incessant beat on the floor. She thought she might, indeed, have to swoon in a moment if the two men did not stop.

  Hiccough. Hiccough. Hiccough. Pat was now looking at her in alarm, as was Kate.

  “Noah,” Kate said, and there was a warning in her tone, as if there were a prior agreement which her brother was now breaking.

  Pamela’s hiccoughs were rising steadily in both intensity and frequency. She drank the glass of water Noah poured her, to little avail however other than spilling half of it down the front of her dress. Jamie offered her his napkin at the same time that Noah whipped a freshly pressed handkerchief out of his suit pocket and handed it to her. She took both napkin and handkerchief, burying her face in the starched depths of one, and flapping the other like a white flag of truce, indicating that they should stop hovering. Rescue came in the form of Aunt Sophy, who arrived in a rustle of taffeta, wafting Shalimar over all assembled.

  “Come with me, Pamela, and we’ll get ye sorted. The two of youze,” she looked pointedly first at Jamie and then Noah, “ought to be ashamed.”

  Jamie looked up, green eyes still hectic with anger. “I am. I apologize, Pamela.”

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said, and stood to help her from her chair.

  “Men,” Sophy said, with no small amount of disgust.

  She hustled Pamela into the small pub kitchen. The windows were open and a small breeze blew through from the twilit woods beyond.

  “Here, bend over the sink as best ye can, an’ drink from the wrong side of the glass.”

  Pamela looked at her in surprise. “That’s what Casey always got me to do.”

  “Aye well, he would, ’twas his daddy taught me to deal with hiccoughs that way.”

  She obediently drank from the wrong side of the glass and within five minutes she was leaning back against the counter, hiccoughs gone. She took a deep breath, and smoothed her hair back with the droplets of water left on her hands.

  “Hard day for you, lass,” Sophy said, and it wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, it is. I’m very happy for Patrick though, he deserves every bit of joy that comes his way.”

  “Aye, ye can be happy for him, an’ still have yer own hurt. I know ye miss Casey every day but I would think days like today are especially difficult. Because he ought to be here by yer side, celebratin’ his brother’s weddin’. He ought to be the man takin’ ye home at the end of night.”

  “He ought to be, but he can’t be any more, and I think I’m beginning to truly understand what that means to my life.”

  Sophy reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m that sorry, girl.”

  “I know,” she said, “thank you.”

  They returned to the table to find that Noah was gone.

  “He had a phone call,” Pat said, noting her glance at the chair where Tomas now sat. Jamie rose and pulled her chair out and she sank into it gratefully. She knew she and the children would have to leave soon, so as to put a halt to any further contretemps between Jamie and Noah.

  Sophy settled into a chair and grinned at her nephew.

  “Will ye want me to talk to wee Paddy about the birds an’ the bees, just so ye’re certain he knows what’s what tonight?” Sophy asked Kate.

  “Oh, he knows his business well enough,” Kate said, smiling, “bein’ that I’m three months pregnant.”

  “Those Riordan boys have always been a precocious lot.”

  Long accustomed to the bold women in his family, Pat merely laughed. “Ah, but you’d be the expert in this area, Aunt Sophy. I do remember the drawins’ ye showed us. Scarred the lot of us for life, an’ it’s not likely we’ll ever forget.”

  “Ah, boyo don’t force me to tell the story about yerself an’ the nunnery,” Sophy said, blue eyes alight with mischief.

  Pat colored up and gave a rueful laugh. “That’s not fair Aunt Sophy, ye know all my secrets.”

  She reached over and patted his cheek. “Ach, I’m only teasin’, man. Ye’re a lucky lass, Miss Kate, an’ make no mistake of it. He’s goin’ to make ye a fine husband.”

  Kate smiled and leaned her head on Pat’s shoulder. The look on her face was a lovely thing to behold. Pamela felt a small ache of envy in her own chest. She knew what it was to have that glow and she knew what it was to lose it.

  “Is every woman in yer family a contrary bit of baggage?” Tomas asked Pat. He winked at Pamela, and she sent a silent thank you his way for lightening the mood at the table.

  “Aye,” Pat said, leaning over to kiss Kate, “they are, but we men wouldn’t have them any other way.”

  “Ye don’t see the men complainin’ now do ye?” Sophy said.

  “Ye have a husband? I’m surprised there’s a man with the fortitude,” Tomas said, with a wicked smile.

  “Aye, there is, an’ there was another before him,” Sophy said easily, one well-plucked red brow arched in Tomas’ direction.

  “Did ye wear him down—the first one?”

  “He died in bed,” Sophy said plea
santly, “ye may apply yer fine legal mind to that an’ draw yer own conclusions.”

  Tomas’ eyebrows shot up and it was clear that he couldn’t decide whether Sophy was in jest or not. Pamela suspected not, but made a mental note to ask Patrick later.

  “I concede the floor to ye, lady, ye’ve rendered me speechless an’ there’s not many can say that.”

  The entire table dissolved into laughter, which owed as much she knew, to Noah’s absence as it did to the sight of Tomas surrendering to a woman.

  She stretched a little and leaned back in her chair, stroking her belly instinctively, for the baby was kicking, small thumps against her hand, barely felt on the outside but strong on the inside. She became aware of Jamie’s regard, and stilled her hand, turning toward him before she could think to stop herself.

  His gaze was utterly naked, and held within the green eyes was a longing so pure and piercing that she could not bear to see it. She turned away, feeling like she had seen something she was not meant to, something terribly private and painful. She clutched her napkin in her fingers, the band of the sapphire ring cutting into her flesh. The chatter and laughter around the table had not abated, and she was glad of it, praying that no one had noticed what had passed.

  “You will excuse me,” Jamie said quietly, and rose from the table.

  Tomas was chatting with Sophy and Kate, and for a moment it was just she and Pat. There was a sympathy in the dark eyes that she could not bear to see. She was near tears as it was and Pat had always seen things too clearly. She had a transparent face at the best of times, and today, feeling particularly vulnerable had left her, she suspected, as easily read as a large print book.

  “Pamela—”

  She cut him off before he could say the words. “No, Pat, not today, please.”

  Sophy took in the situation in one glance and pulled Pat’s attention away, giving Pamela the opportunity to leave the table.

  She walked over to Noah, who was standing by the bar, a drink in his hand, which he had not touched. He looked at her and smiled, gentian eyes warm. One would think the tension between he and Jamie had never occurred.

  “Ye look tired, it’s been a long day, no?” Noah said.

  “Yes, it has been. Lovely, but long. Would you mind taking us home soon?”

  “Whenever ye’d like,” he replied amiably.

  “We can say our goodbyes to Pat and Kate, and then I’d like to go.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go fetch the coats an’ meet ye out front.”

  She breathed out with relief. She wanted to go home and take off her shoes and stockings. Her feet were swollen and her back was aching. Isabelle was tired, and from past experience Pamela knew she needed to get her home and in her pajamas before she went past the point of no return.

  Isabelle, however, was having none of it. Stirred from a half doze on Gert’s ample lap, she discovered that her roses had disappeared.

  “Me needs a’ find my cwown,” she said stubbornly.

  “Sweetheart, the roses were wilting anyway,” Pamela said, knowing it was futile even as she said the words. Once Isabelle got a notion in her head there was little dissuading her.

  “Me needs my cwown,” Isabelle repeated, adding emphasis with a stomp of one tiny patent leather clad foot. She set her chin in an expression Pamela was all too familiar with. She sighed, she was going to have to find the tiny wreath of roses before they could leave, or suffer the indignant wrath of an exhausted three-year-old.

  Pat, always able to sense another Riordan on the brew, came over to them and took Isabelle up in his arms, distracting her with a small ashtray which was filled with marbles. He nodded to Pamela, who cast about for the roses to no avail. Sophy came over and said, “If ye’re lookin’ for the wee lass’s wreath, I saw her scamper back into the store room at one point.”

  The storeroom was dark. Dark, but not empty. Jamie stood, gazing out at the swiftly-gathering dusk, his arms braced on the deep windowsill. The window was open and looked out over the wooded lot which sat adjacent to the pub. The air was still and the dusk touched his bright hair with shadow, outlining his form in a pellucid blue. She halted, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment, knowing he had likely come in here to catch his breath and marshal the forces of will that maintained his manners and his façade. They were both wearing masks today that did not fit their faces.

  A glimmer of pink caught her eye. Isabelle’s wreath lay in a corner, wilted and forlorn amongst the dull gleam of kegs. There was no way to retrieve the circlet without coming to his attention, and yet there was no way Isabelle was going home without it.

  “Jamie.”

  He turned abruptly, the utterance of his name shattering his peaceful reverie.

  “I’m sorry to startle you. I just came to retrieve Isabelle’s roses.”

  She hunkered down to pick up the roses because she could no longer bend over with any grace. Jamie beat her to it, picking up the small circlet and scattering rose petals around their feet. Their eyes met as he handed her the wreath. It was the first time they had been alone in one another’s company all day. They had avoided this exact moment for good reason.

  “How are you?” he asked, and she knew the question was much larger than the homely three words could possibly convey.

  “All right,” she said, because she always told Jamie the truth, and good would be a stretch today and he would know she was lying. She had felt his eyes on her face often enough today to know he had a fair notion of just how she was feeling.

  “And the baby?”

  “She’s fine, Jamie. I had an appointment with the doctor last week, and everything is just as it should be. I left a message with Maggie to tell you.”

  “Yes, she told me, it’s not the same as hearing it from you, or as reassuring as seeing you for myself.”

  He looked at her left hand then, where the sapphire glowed a lambent blue. “So it’s true,” he said quietly, “you’re engaged to Noah Murray.”

  She nodded, her lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes. “Yes, it’s true.”

  Beyond the room there was the sound of laughter and through the window came the scent of hawthorn, blooms long fallen to dust.

  “Why, Pamela?” There was such bleakness in the two words that she wanted to back away from the question and not answer him. She felt a flash of anger which had jealousy at its core.

  “I could ask you the same question, Jamie.”

  “Yes, you could. But Pamela, you know my situation, I have no choice at present unless I wish to lose my son. You know this is not what I want, not in the least.” He sounded angry, maybe as angry as she had ever heard him, but she knew his anger wasn’t toward her, it was aimed inward at himself. It was an untenable situation and her heart ached for him.

  “I’m sorry, Jamie. It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have said that. How is Kolya adjusting?”

  Jamie shook his head. “He’s a resilient little soul, but he asks about you and Conor and Isabelle twenty times a day, I swear. I can’t explain to his satisfaction why we don’t see you anymore.”

  “It’s the same for us—Conor and Isabelle ask about you and Kolya all the time. Isabelle cried herself to sleep the other night, wanting her Koly.” She shrugged. “Well, I hardly need tell you. It was clear how happy they were to see you today.”

  “And now it’s my turn to apologize, because it’s bad enough that I hurt you, I certainly never wanted to hurt the children as well.”

  “What of Violet, is she happy with the deal she has struck?” It was a foolhardy question, but she could not stop herself from asking it.

  “She is not a fool, she knows what sort of a poor bargain she has in me. For here,” he spread his beautiful hands, “there is nothing but the wasteland of the infinite ache. She is wise enough to know that ache is not and can never be, for her.”

  He stepped forward and she fought the instinct to go toward him, to touch him, to put her head to his chest and allow the tension
to drain from her body. She was quite certain, though, that tension was the only thing holding her up at this point. And then he took her hand, the one that held Noah’s ring and clasped it between both of his. Her skin prickled at his touch, her body acknowledging this man for whom it yearned.

  “Don’t marry him, Pamela, whatever happens, do not marry that man. You will destroy your own life and that of the children.”

  “Jamie, you have your own affairs to tend to, allow me to tend to mine.”

  “Is that what you call it—affairs? Jesus Christ, Pamela, you know what he is. Right now he’s the biggest and baddest in the land but some day he won’t be and then what will you do? There will be no safe bolt-hole then, no security to shield you from the men who will hunt him down and kill him like he is no more than an animal—which is no less than he will deserve.”

  She shook her head; she was desperately exhausted and didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, least of all Jamie.

  “I know who he is. I know what he has done, perhaps not the details but the broad strokes are more than adequate in this case. It’s about as relevant though, as a pair of mittens on a hot summer day, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not, that’s my child in your belly, Pamela and if you think I will stand by and let Noah Murray play father to it, think again.”

  “Are you threatening me, Jamie?” She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held it tighter, the sapphire digging into her skin.

  “No, I am not threatening you. I’m stating plainly that I will not have my child raised by that man.”

  “I would never keep you from your child. She will always know who her father is. How large a part you play in her life will be up to you.”

  “You keep saying her.”

  “I just think it’s a little girl,” she said. “I don’t know why exactly, just that it feels like a girl.”

  “I’ve never fathered a daughter before,” he said.

  “You’ve never gotten me pregnant before,” she said tartly. “It’s why I don’t think the heart syndrome will affect this child.”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed in exasperation. “I would dearly love to shake you right now,” he said and she could see he meant it.