Deirdre's True Desire

by Heather McCorkle

  “Bloody hell, Deirdre, I could have shot you,” he said.

  Anger seethed through her. “Or Lincoln, or saints forbid, Sadie or Cat. Are you really that worried that Ainsworth would spy on us?” she demanded.

  She rested her hand on Lincoln’s head and the hound’s growl reduced to a low grumble. Gaze on the hound, Dylan took a step to the right, placing the boulder between him and Lincoln. “I am. That’s why I came out here, to make sure you were safe.”

  Every muscle in her body tensed with fury, which brought another growl from Lincoln. Would this man never learn? “As I have told you, I can take care of myself,” she said in a tone as cold as the winter air.

  Hand held out, beseeching, Dylan took a step closer. “No, ’twas not the only reason. You can’t fault a man for wanting to protect a lass he fancies,” he said.

  At his approach, Lincoln gnashed his teeth. “Easy there, pup. I was trying to protect her, same as you are.”

  The tension Deirdre felt in Lincoln made it clear the hound wasn’t convinced of Dylan’s good intentions. She stroked his back and murmured soothing words. After a moment, he sat down at her side. Even with him and Dylan present, Deirdre felt exposed, vulnerable. She couldn’t stop picturing Ainsworth’s dark, calculating eyes. Would he only spy on them, or would he try to harm them? She was afraid she knew the answer to that. Gaze darting about the thick copse of trees, she turned back toward the home site.

  “We’d best get back. A lady shouldn’t put herself in this kind of danger,” she said, throwing Dylan’s words back at him with a vehemence born mostly from fear.

  Part of her was angry he was right. Right in a way, at least. Despite what she had said, she couldn’t shoot a pistol with anything that resembled accuracy. On the journey over she’d had hired men to do that for her. They had taught her how to use a firearm to the point where she was comfortable with one. But the kick of the damnable things got her every time. She was an archer, not a pistoleer.

  Fingers curling into fists, she stormed up the hill. She hated that she couldn’t feel safe on her own land, or that of her friends, and, irrational as it was, she was mad at Dylan for pointing it out. The problem was, Ainsworth knew this land better than she did. It gave him an advantage that she could not tolerate. First thing in the morning, she planned to take steps to remedy that.

  Chapter 16

  The shadows of dawn hid every manner of threat—at least in Deirdre’s imagination. Every bush and leafless tree dotting the landscape looked like assailants lying in wait. Heart pounding and grip tightening on the bow in her hand, she kept constant pressure on Ciaren’s side to keep the mare moving forward. No doubt sensing her rider’s unease, Ciaren pranced and snorted at every bough that moved in the breeze. Deirdre held her other hand near her chest where she could swiftly reach back for an arrow if need be.

  Up ahead lay a gathering of oak and aspen trees shrouded in fog. Dread pulled at her the closer she drew to it. The cloud-covered sky offered little help in seeing through the white, soupy mess that came up to Ciaren’s nose. Good sense told her to steer clear of the place, but as was so often the case for her, she couldn’t listen to it. This was the last bit of her property she had yet to explore. She needed to know the layout and terrain over every single acre. Only then could she know every potential hiding place, advantage, or disadvantage, the land might hold. Too much time had already passed for her to not know such things. After all, she had rows of grapes to plant in the spring, and a garden to plan.

  At least, those were the reasons she told herself as she rode into the dense fog. Ainsworth could send spies—or worse, killers—after her at any time. It was possible they would know every rock, tree, and hollow better than she. Her arrow knocked loudly against the cradle of her bow. She hadn’t even realized she’d drawn it. That instinct made her think maybe she wouldn’t have as hard a time shooting a man as she feared. The realization both comforted and disturbed her.

  The fog began to break up and settle a little more with each step she took into the trees. Though her gaze scanned the thick, deciduous trees, it still caught her by surprise when Ciaren stepped around one and a man stood not twenty feet away. The muscles of that tanned, bare back looked familiar. The silky black hair hanging down just past his shoulder blades did not. Or did it? No, it couldn’t be. Muscles in the man’s back and shoulders flexed. Ciaren walked closer without any urging. Then Deirdre saw why. A beautiful, bareback stallion stood grazing not far from the man.

  The twang of a bowstring snapped her gaze back to the man. An arrow sank into something solid several yards away, from the sound of it. Lowering his bow, the man turned just enough that she could see his profile. The slightly high cheekbones, full lips, and strong brow were unmistakable.

  She lowered her own bow. “Kinan?” The encounter seemed dreamlike, a fantasy really, what with him looking all wild. To find him not only half-naked in the woods, but shooting a bow as well, felt surreal. That, and stimulating. Fantasy or not, she was eager to see where this encounter led. She shouldn’t indulge in such thoughts about a man she wasn’t sure was right for her. But when he looked like something out of an old tale, it was difficult not to. Besides, there was only one way to find out if he was right.

  “Deirdre, what are you doing out here? Is everything all right?” Kinan asked. He propped his bow against a tree and retrieved a burgundy shirt hanging on a nearby branch.

  Ignoring propriety, which dictated she should turn her back, she rode straight for him. “All is well enough. I should ask the same of you; this is my land, after all.”

  She caught a grin before he turned slightly away and slid his arms into his shirt. “Actually, it’s the border of your land and mine. I do hope you’ll pardon me treading the line between the two. This is the most secluded place for miles that I can practice my archery.” As he talked, his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, slowly taking away the alluring view of his hard chest. He turned back to her as he closed the button beneath his pectoral muscles. “And I apologize for my state of undress, which you have a knack for seeing me in.” At that he raised a brow. “My morning exercises have me overheated despite the cold.” He nodded his head in the direction of the bow in her hand. “Enjoying a bit of archery yourself?”

  Clearing her throat, she looked down at the bow. “While I do have a passion for the pastime, I actually brought this along for protection.”

  Head turning this way and that, Kinan’s gaze scanned around her. “Ah, you’ve come out alone. In that case, the bow was a wise decision.”

  Eyes widening, Deirdre reined Ciaren to a stop. “You’re not going to reprimand me for going out on my own?”

  He shrugged. “You brought a weapon. And besides, I have a feeling it wouldn’t do any good if I did.”

  “You’re right, it wouldn’t.” She kept her tone clipped to hide her admiration for his attitude.

  One tanned hand swept toward the target. “Would you like to join me for a bit of practice?”

  The target he pointed to was a round bull’s-eye mounted to a tree a good distance away. Three arrows stuck in the red center, crowded in tight together. The thrill of anticipation shot through her at the sight. “I would enjoy that very much, but I don’t want to intrude.”

  Kinan waved a hand. “Nonsense. ’Tis no intrusion at all. Balder here isn’t exactly good company for such things. I would enjoy it if you joined me.”

  “In that case, I would be delighted to.”

  A little archery practice with a handsome man would be harmless—or not. She certainly wouldn’t protest at things getting a bit more physical. By the time she moved her skirts and readied to jump down, Kinan stood at Ciaren’s side, hands outstretched to her. She nodded and he took hold of her waist and lifted her down. Both the warmth of his big hands and the strength in them felt so good it left her light-headed. The way they lingered after he set her on her feet h
eated her to her core. No, no, she couldn’t allow herself to feel that way, not before knowing if they would be physically compatible. And certainly not before knowing if she could trust him with that which she shouldn’t have trusted even her late husband.

  “I’m capable of dismounting on my own, you know,” she said, smiling to soften the words.

  Nodding, he let go and took a step back. That had certainly not been the intention of her words. But then, it did go a step in the direction of proving her theory of him being too proper to endure. She adjusted the quiver of arrows on her back and draped her bow over her right shoulder.

  “I know, but what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t offer?” he said with a bit of a coy look. The look brought heat to her cheeks.

  She nodded, using the movement as an excuse to look down and break the hypnotic effect of his gaze. “A remiss one, for sure,” she teased, hoping it was enough to make him realize it wasn’t his conduct that she disapproved of.

  He surprised her with a laugh.

  “What?” she asked.

  “So much worse has been said of me.”

  “Of you? Certainly not! You’re above reproach,” she said in all earnestness.

  “Hardly. There is much you don’t know about me.”

  She indicated the target with a thrust of her head. “Like your proficiency in archery?”

  The fact that he enjoyed archery was quite appealing. She led her horse over to a tree near his and secured the reins around a low branch. The two horses nickered at one another and tried to press their noses closer. Knowing her mare’s affinity for the white stallion, Deirdre had tied her just far enough away. Kinan offered her his arm. Above reproach, indeed. She accepted it and enjoyed his closeness as he led her to the target.

  “Well, ’tis one of the few pastimes accepted in polite society that actually builds a practical and interesting skill,” he said.

  She brightened. “That’s precisely part of why I enjoy it so much. That, and I can’t tolerate needlepoint.”

  Kinan laughed again, the easy, deep sound rumbling across her in a way that made her skin tighten and tingle. Her body was deprived indeed to betray her with such a reaction for a man she wasn’t sure she could have.

  “I must admit,” Kinan began. “I can’t see you sitting around with a group of ladies doing needlepoint.”

  Deirdre put a hand to her chest. “Why ever not?” she asked, eyes wide in mock surprise.

  “I fear such things would bore a lady of your intellect and spirit,” he said.

  A flush spread through her chest. But, she had to remind herself, men would say all kinds of things to pique a lady’s interest in them. Her late husband had been quite good at such tactics, then turned out to be the type to expect her to do and be all the things she loathed. Not to mention his reaction to her secret.

  “You would be right in that regard,” she admitted, with a bit of an edge to her voice.

  As Kinan plucked his arrows from the target, she regaled him with tales of her mother’s attempts—and failures—to get her to enjoy ladylike pursuits. She wanted it to be very clear that she was not a typical lady, and never would be. Rather than chastise or disbelieve her, he laughed and praised her for her cleverness. Kinan in turn told her of his own mother’s strict teachings and tales of how she tried to civilize him as a young man. Laughing, they walked back to the shooting area arm in arm. She found herself in no rush at all to be free of his touch. No matter how hard she looked, he didn’t display any of the signs of a gentleman who expected a traditional lady. Yet, an arm around hers, or a hand on her waist to help her dismount, seemed to be the extent of his willingness to be physical. That in itself was a sign, or so she kept telling herself.

  They lingered arm in arm, talking of bow design, arrow materials, and choice of fletching. Finally, unable to put it off any longer, Kinan slid free of her arm and picked up her bow. He handed it to her and stepped aside as she nocked an arrow. Like a good observer, he went still and quiet. She leveled the bow onto her target, let out a slow breath, then let the arrow fly. It settled into the wood a hand’s width below the red bull’s-eye. The blue fletching vibrated on impact. Glaring at it as if it was to blame, she stepped aside so Kinan could shoot.

  He shook his head. “Please, take as many shots as you like. I’ve already had several.”

  She smiled and inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  Several shots later she still hadn’t hit within three fingers of the bull’s-eye. Clearly it had been far too long since she’d shot. The squeaky cry of frustration that escaped her only incensed her more.

  “I take it you normally shoot better than this,” Kinan said.

  She wanted somewhere to direct her ire, but his words hadn’t given her an opening. She found that both refreshing and a touch annoying. Most men would have seized the opportunity to gloat, or point out how their own method and skills were superior. Why couldn’t this man be more difficult?

  “Normally, yes. I fear I haven’t had much practice since leaving New York.”

  “We’ll just have to remedy that,” he said.

  Thrills raced through her. Her late husband had insisted archery wasn’t a ladylike pursuit. It had always driven her half-mad, considering how much she loved it. She and Kinan walked together to retrieve the arrows. She couldn’t find any reason to take his arm and grew annoyed at herself for her lack of inventive thinking. His encouragement touched her so deeply that it left her flustered, a state she was not at all used to. Kinan talked about the progression of the decorations for the party and they discussed seating arrangements for the guests.

  “Practically the entire town will be in attendance. That’s quite impressive. I haven’t seen them all come together since Thomas Brady’s funeral.”

  The name wasn’t one she recalled hearing, but the tender note in Kinan’s voice piqued her curiosity. “Who was this Thomas Brady that could bring an entire town together?”

  Clouds darkened Kinan’s eyes. “A good lad who helped everyone he came across and never expected a thing in return.”

  “He was your friend,” Deirdre observed in a gentle voice.

  Kinan swallowed hard and nodded. She wrapped an arm through his and leaned her head against his arm. “My deepest condolences.”

  She led him back to where she had hung her cloak on a branch. Chilly though the day was, the dress she wore had quickly overheated her during shooting. Finding a suitable spot of soft leaves, she spread the cloak out and sat down. At her pat on the space beside her, Kinan surprised her by sitting down. Not so much as one protest came from him. Any other time she might have commented on that, but now wasn’t the time to tease the man.

  “What happened to him?” she asked. She knew from experience that sometimes it helped to talk about such things.

  Kinan lowered his head, causing long silky strands of his dark hair to fall about him. The impulse to run her hands through those locks, to wrap them around her fingers, almost made her reach for him. A long moment passed before he said, “He was killed escaping Canada.”

  Deirdre drew up a bit. “Escaping Canada?” So much about that didn’t make sense that she didn’t know what else to say.

  Moisture glistened in his eyes but anger tightened the skin around them. “He was charmed into joining the Fenian Brotherhood, and became convinced it was his duty to do whatever he could to help free Ireland from England’s rule.”

  Understanding settled heavy on Deirdre’s heart. “He was among the Fenian Army that attacked the English outposts in Canada,” she said.

  The pain etched into the lines between his brows made her want to change the subject, but if he could endure the pain, she could endure it for him. “Was he recently emigrated from Ireland?”

  “No. He was born and raised here in California,” he said, voice catching a bit.

  Not wan
ting to offend his sense of propriety, but unwilling to see him in such pain and do nothing, she took hold of his hand. His fingers wove through hers and squeezed tight. The palm-to-palm contact sent a thrill straight to her core. Now wasn’t the time for such things. Besides, if Kinan were in his right mind, he likely wouldn’t allow the contact, which was truly only acceptable for those courting. If only he didn’t hold to such traditional beliefs. No, she couldn’t think that way.

  His thumb started to make little circles on the back of her hand. The sensation it caused drove all thought away. Warmth spread from her hand, up her arm, and down through her breasts.

  He gave her a sad smile. “It hardly seems right for me to accept your kindness and condolences when you’ve suffered such a great loss of your own. As a Californian, I didn’t serve alongside the 69th, but I heard great things about the bravery of your husband’s infantry unit,” he said.

  Deirdre cleared her throat. “Yes, they were a fine unit.”

  Thumb halting its circles, he leaned a touch closer and looked deep into her eyes. “Forgive me, but—you weren’t close to your husband, were you?”

  A shiver ran through her. She managed a tight smile and shook her head. “No. He wasn’t a bad man, just a very…traditional man.” She tried not to put too much bite into that second part and failed. “My parents arranged the marriage to secure my future, and as a lady in a man’s world, I could hardly argue.”

  Kinan let go of her, grabbed his cloak from where he had laid it, and swung it around her shoulders. She snuggled into it with a smile of thanks, not wanting to tell him her body’s reaction hadn’t been to the cold. Anyway, his wonderful scent lingering in the cloak made her not want to let it go.

  He leaned back on an elbow and looked up at her. “I hope he wasn’t terrible to you, else I’ll have a difficult time not holding it against his memory.”

  She found herself tracing circles on the back of his hand now. She hadn’t even realized she’d reached for him again. “Oh no, not at all. He was kind in the beginning, gentle even in the end, and tediously boring,” she said with a laugh.