Deirdre's True Desire

by Heather McCorkle

  “Oh God, no! I’m sorry, I must have dropped that,” he said, an edge of panic in his voice as he reached for it.

  She stepped back, holding it tighter. “This is yours?”

  “Aye, and ’tis very dear to me,” he said, hand held out.

  She let him take it.

  A horrible thought knitted her brows together. “Sadie said you had two sheets of paper on you when she first dressed your wounds. It was those, or some of them, wasn’t it?” she asked, pointing to the loose sheets poking out from the journal.

  He caressed the charred edges. “Aye. That’s why I didn’t make it to the party that night. I was trying to get this back from Ainsworth.”

  “His men were able to set those fires because you left your post guarding my home.”

  His head dropped. “Aye, and for that, I will be eternally sorry. I thought they were distracted by the engagement party. I knew Ainsworth would be attending. It was the only chance I had to get into his house—”

  An upheld hand halted his words. The excuses, the justification, it was too much to bear. She pointed to the front of the journal he clutched so closely to his chest. “That’s the mark of the Fenian Brotherhood. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she demanded.

  He lifted his chin. “I am. We’re patriots in America who continue to fight to free Ireland. You know I love our motherland, I told you as much.”

  Not so much as a hint of remorse showed on his face. She had to swallow several times before she could speak through her fury. “Were you part of the group that attacked the British outposts in Canada last year?”

  His fingers started to turn white where they clutched the journal. “We were fighting to draw the British navy to defend Canada. With them busy there, our Irish Republican Brotherhood in Ireland could have driven out the English ground forces at last.”

  The glare she fixed on him felt harsh, but she couldn’t suppress her anger. “The newspapers said it didn’t work. They said innocents were killed, Canadians who had no stake in the conflict. Worse, you ignored the call to fight a war here on the soil that nourishes you now, ignoring the plight of another people who deserve to be free as well.”

  He flinched repeatedly as if every word stung like a vengeful bee. Moisture filled his eyes and he shook his head. “You haven’t been there, you don’t understand. I was born there. I watched me friends starve to death, me grandparents get evicted from the farm that had been in our family for generations so an English lord could have it, and me mum work her hands bloody to feed us. The English treat us like vermin in need of exterminating—which they do at any given opportunity.” He paused to suck in a shuddering breath. His eyes closed tight and a tear ran down his cheek.

  “I can’t explain it to someone who hasn’t seen it, hasn’t lived it.” Carefully, he tucked the loose pages back into the journal and placed it in his jacket.

  The defeated way he hung his head made her feel horrible. He was right. She didn’t know, and she had no right to judge him. “I apologize. You’re right.”

  He shook his head with a vehemence that surprised her. The look of guilt in his eyes when he looked at her chilled her. “Don’t, I don’t deserve it. But I do hope you’ll try to understand that if I hadn’t gotten this book back from Ainsworth, hundreds, maybe thousands, of my countrymen would have died.”

  Gaze darting away, he stopped talking. A terrible feeling settled in Deirdre. When he didn’t go on, or look back at her after a while, she took a step closer to him. “Dylan? What did you do to get that book back?” He held his silence and continued to stare at the ground. Desperation spreading through her chest, she grabbed his arm. “What did you do?” she demanded.

  “I had to get Ainsworth out of the house so I could sneak in and get the journal back. The night of the party I was only able to grab the loose pages that were poking out of the safe door.” He swallowed hard as if the rest of the words stuck and wouldn’t come out.

  She slapped a palm against his chest so hard he flinched. “How exactly did you get him out of the house today?”

  Another long stretch of silence made her contemplate drawing her pistol. But she wouldn’t actually use it on him, and she didn’t want to put herself in the vulnerable position of raising her skirts. Not that she thought Dylan would hurt her. Run, now that she feared he might do.

  “I told him I saw Kinan at the edge of his property with a wagon.”

  Shock stole her breath, but she reclaimed it fast enough. “He’ll think we’re after timber. He’ll come gunning for Kinan—and anyone with him,” Deirdre whispered.

  Her mind tried to get her body to move, to run, but it froze in place. “Cat, Sadie…” The thought of Ainsworth hurting either of them launched her into action.

  She shoved Dylan aside and flung open Ciaren’s stall door.

  Dylan called after her. “Once he sees the wagon is too small for timber, and that Cat and Sadie are with him, he’ll realize they’re only after a Christmas tree. He won’t have any recourse to take action.”

  Ciaren wasn’t in her stall. The back paddock door stood wide open. Despite her constricting throat, Deirdre managed to whistle loud and shrill. She waited, listening for hoofbeats, but Ciaren didn’t come. There could be only one possible reason for that. Someone had opened her paddock gate, which would allow her to run into Balder’s paddock.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about. They’ll be fine. Please, come with me. We’ll have an adventure traveling, then we can settle down and have some wee ones,” Dylan pleaded.

  Deirdre grabbed the lead rope and halter from where it hung on the front of the stall. She marched through the stall and out into the paddock. Low fog swirled with each step, tendrils of it curling up around the edges of her fine blue satin skirts. She had dressed for a wagon ride with her lover and friends, not a hack on horseback. But she had no time to worry about that. Neither Ciaren nor Balder stood in or around his paddock. His gate also stood wide open. A wordless scream tore from Deirdre’s throat. Though she knew it would do no good, she whistled again. Far out in the field that bordered the paddocks, two equine figures frolicked in the fog, one black, one white.

  Less time remained than she thought. She stormed back into the barn, threw the halter and lead rope at Dylan, and kept marching toward the back of the barn. Dylan snagged her arm as she passed him, pulling her to a stop. She spun around and slapped him as hard as she could across the face, putting all her weight into it.

  “Ainsworth won’t care that they aren’t getting timber. It’s an excuse he’ll use to justify killing them all!” she roared in his face. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Deep down, you know that. It’s why you’re trying to delay me,” she hissed.

  He grabbed both of her arms, his touch gentle, but firm. “No, I delayed you so I’d have time to convince you to come with me. I love you, Deirdre.”

  For a moment, pity broke through her anger. “No, Dylan. You love the idea of me, an idea that keeps changing. And I am not going to change for you. Now let me go.”

  “I can’t do that, just in case you’re right about Ainsworth.”

  Swallowing her fury, Deirdre smiled and nodded. Dylan let out a breath and nodded in return, starting to smile as he rubbed her arms. She stepped swiftly to the side and slammed her knee into his groin. A terrible wheeze of pain rushed from his lips as he doubled over. Hands going to cradle his groin, his wide eyes fixed on her. With a calm born of need, she lifted her skirts and drew her hidden pistol. A new kind of pain entered Dylan’s eyes.

  “I am going. If you try to stop me, I will stop you. People I love are in danger. The man I love is in danger. There is nothing in this universe that can stop me from getting to them, not even you.”

  Her shaking thumb tried twice to cock the hammer and failed. Instead, she had to use her left hand. The entire pistol shook so badly she knew her shot would come nowhere
near her target if it came down to it. She prayed it wouldn’t come down to it for more reasons than that.

  She had to get him moving. “Get on your horse and get the hell out of here. I don’t ever want to see you again,” she said.

  “You love him, truly?” Dylan gasped.

  She realized with a wonderful and frightening clarity that she did. “Yes.”

  Tears shone in Dylan’s eyes, but whether they were from her confession, or the kick to his bollocks was hard to tell. Without another word, he stumbled toward the barn door. A few moments later pained curses preceded a “Hiyah!” The thunder of receding hooves followed.

  Pointing the pistol at the floor, just in case, Deirdre eased the hammer down. She ran for the tack room. There she replaced the pistol with the extra bow that Kinan kept on the wall for varmints. A pistol did her no good if she wasn’t comfortable enough with the damn thing to hit anything with accuracy. Just holding the bow eased enough of her anxiety that she stopped shaking. Fear gave way to determination. She would make it there in time. She had to. Grabbing the biggest bridle off the wall, Deirdre dashed to the only horse left in the barn—Kinan’s old plow horse.

  Chapter 25

  Huge, feathered feet arching into animated steps, the draft horse loped across the grasslands. The pace was barely more than a jog, really. No matter how hard Deirdre kicked or begged, the creature wouldn’t break into a full gallop. Once the inn fell out of sight behind them, she gave up, realizing this was likely the fastest pace the old horse could do. It was probably for the best anyway. The low fog that clung to the ground obscured her view of the terrain. To go any faster would be reckless. And were the horse willing, she wouldn’t have cared how reckless it was.

  After what felt like an eternity of torturous worry, she finally reached the tree-covered hillside that was the edge of Ainsworth’s land. She slowed the horse to a walk as they entered the trees. Over the huffing and puffing of the tired horse, she couldn’t hear much else. She pulled the bow slung from her back and nocked an arrow. Gaze scanning the ground, she did her best to travel along where she knew they would have entered the forest. The farther she rode up the hill, the thinner the fog became until it soon gave way to a dusting of snow. In the only gap through the trees wide enough to allow a wagon passage, she finally saw it; wheel tracks cutting through the snow.

  She dismounted and tied the horse to a sturdy branch, leaving enough rein for him to reach the ground to try and graze. She patted his big neck and whispered a promise to return for him. His head lowered and he began pushing snow around with his nose. Hopefully that would keep him occupied. She had to leave him. The creature’s huffing and puffing would give away her approach.

  The wagon couldn’t have gotten much farther. Bow at the ready, she crept through the trees off to the side of the tracks. Near the crest of what she knew preceded a hollow—for they had traveled this way before—she heard voices raised in anger. Crouching low, she moved to the top of the crest, careful to keep a tree between her and the direction the voices came from. Feathery spruce boughs hid her from sight—or so she hoped. Not thirty feet ahead lay the wagon. In front of the team of horses, Cat and Sadie huddled together, holding hands. Kinan stood between them and Ainsworth, his arms spread wide, his body shielding her friends from the barrel of the shotgun in the Englishman’s hands. To their right stood Dylan, hands out as if pleading with Ainsworth, or Kinan, she couldn’t tell.

  The fool had beat her with ease on his thoroughbred horse. Damn, she should have thought to steal it from him instead of taking the old plow horse.

  Deirdre resisted the urge to run into the fray and instead crept one tree closer, then another. The men were far too busy arguing to notice her. Red-faced, Ainsworth was yelling, “—looks like a rat, it’s a rat, O’Toole. These people are here to steal my timber and I’ll thank you to stay out of while I take care of things.”

  Another man moved out of the trees on the other side of the wagon, coming up behind Cat and Sadie. No one seemed to notice him yet. Deirdre crept another tree closer, now less than twenty feet away. Sunlight danced along the blade of a large knife in the sneaking man’s hands. The man and Ainsworth exchanged a look. Ainsworth nodded.

  Just as the man lunged, Deirdre launched to her feet, took aim, and loosed her arrow. The crack of gunfire immediately followed the twang of her bowstring. The man with the knife halted in midlunge, the feathered shaft stuck in his armpit. He crumpled to the forest floor like a broken doll, his blood turning the snow crimson. Both Cat and Sadie screamed as they turned and saw him. A second arrow nocked, Deirdre spun toward Ainsworth, striding out into the open as she did so. But he lay on the ground too, blood welling up out of his chest. Dylan cocked the hammer back on his smoking pistol as he advanced on Ainsworth’s twitching form.

  Behind them, pine boughs rustled and men shouted and grunted. A moment later, Cofield and Rick emerged, dragging another man by the hair. Rick let go of him and ran to Cat’s side. Sadie stepped back so the two could embrace, but he pulled her into the hug as well.

  “Thank God you’re all right! I was coming to meet you when I heard the shot. Thank God,” he said against Cat’s hair. He let them go almost as quickly and bent to check on the man lying on the ground. Making a grunting noise of satisfaction, he rose and turned to stare straight at Deirdre. “Thank you, angel.”

  Unable to answer, she nodded and turned her bow on the man Cofield was restraining.

  “Should we kill this one, boss?” Cofield asked, looking to Rick.

  Shaking his head, Rick returned to Cat and drew her back into his arms. “O’ course not. We didn’t come here to cause any trouble. Let him go.”

  Cofield did as he was told, but his scowl said he wasn’t happy about it. Dylan swaggered up to the man as he holstered his pistol. “That’s true. I’m the one who came here to cause trouble,” he said.

  He removed the journal from his pocket and waved it in the man’s face. The man’s eyes widened. “Yeah, you recognize this. I took it back from Ainsworth because he stole it from me. Bloody fecking Englishman,” Dylan said, spitting after the last word. Grinning, he motioned to Ainsworth’s corpse. “I did this. And I’d have killed them, too, if they’d gotten in me way.” He thrust his head in Rick’s and Kinan’s direction. Teeth bared, he grabbed the man by the shirt. “You can tell your lawman he’s lucky no more died here by me hand today. Tell him to consider this a warning not to feck with the Fenian Brotherhood.” With that, he shoved the man away from him.

  He and Kinan exchanged a long look that ended with them both nodding. The hard look in Dylan’s eyes softened as he strode straight for Deirdre. He stopped at her side. “Come with me,” he whispered, making it more of a plea than a demand.

  She touched his arm and whispered back, “I can’t. But thank you for what you just did.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before nodding and walking off into the forest. Part of Deirdre wanted to look back at him, but it was a very small part. A cry came from Sadie who lifted her skirts and ran to Deirdre. She all but collided with her, hugging her tighter than a corset. Deirdre dropped her bow and returned her friend’s fierce hug. She’d barely caught her breath when Cat joined them and the squeezing began anew. When they finally let go, she looked them both over.

  “Are either of you hurt?” she asked.

  They both assured her they weren’t, but she double-checked anyway. Eventually, they drew away, Sadie to fetch a blanket from the wagon, and Cat to return to Rick’s arms. Under the guise of picking up her bow, Deirdre took a look at the still body of the man she’d killed. At first, she felt nothing but relief. Because the man was dead, Cat, her baby, and Sadie, were alive. She started to wonder if the man had a wife, a mother, a family, anyone to mourn him. Had she to do it over again, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but still…

  “Deirdre, thank God you’re all right,” Kinan’s soft voice broke
through her thoughts.

  Tears started hot trails down her cheeks at the wonderful sound of that voice. Part of her had feared she’d never hear it again. The way he had been standing between her friends and the barrel of a shotgun, she might not have if she hadn’t arrived when she did. And if Dylan hadn’t made the choice to come help. They reached for each other so fast they didn’t embrace so much as collide. Once inside the warmth and security of his arms, with his heart beating against her ear, the tears stopped. Here she was safe, here she was home.

  Chapter 26

  Watching Cat walk down the pine-bough-and-poinsettia–decked staircase in her white satin gown made the last few months worth it. So full of life and love, her friend glowed with the promise of a beautiful future for them all. Rick basked in that light, looking so happy and in love that Deirdre had to dab tears from the corners of her eyes.

  Throughout the ceremony beneath the huge Christmas tree in the inn’s foyer, Deirdre held Sadie’s hand tight. But her gaze kept returning to Kinan, who stood opposite the aisle from her. He smiled the entire time, looking nearly as happy as Rick. It soon infected her. She smiled until her cheeks ached.

  After the priest pronounced Rick and Cat husband and wife, the attendees flooded in to wish the couple well and congratulate Deirdre on a perfectly planned wedding. Considering that was nearly the entire town, it took a while. No one mourned or mentioned Ainsworth. That made Deirdre a little sad. He must have had a terrible life to have treated so many others so badly. A gentle, white-gloved hand came to rest on her arm. Bright red curls spilled around a face that was positively euphoric. Many of those curls made it down to rest on Cat’s shoulders, contrasting beautifully with her pristine white gown. The look of gratitude Cat gave Deirdre warmed her to her soul.