Deirdre's True Desire

by Heather McCorkle

  She took hold of one of Deirdre’s hands, and one of Sadie’s. “Look at you two, my emerald belles. I’m so blessed to have you both,” Cat said in a choked voice.

  Deirdre did a little half-turn that made the skirts of her emerald gown swirl out. “Sadie did a fabulous job,” she said.

  Cat nodded. “She did indeed, but the women within them are even more beautiful.”

  They cried and hugged, uncaring of the attentive audience all chatting about them.

  “Just think, this time next year, we’ll be looking out over fields of our grapevines, our dreams realized,” Cat said.

  They both agreed. Notes of a piano and violin tuning to one another rose about the din. At the sound, Rick excused himself from a nearby conversation and stepped over to take Cat’s hand.

  “I believe ’tis time for my first dance with my wife,” he said.

  Cat became lost in his gaze as he led her away. The crowd parted, clearing space for the dance. He lifted a hand high above the crowd and the musicians started up at his cue. Rather than a slow waltz as Deirdre had expected, they struck up a lively tune with bagpipes joining in after the first few notes. Cat laughed with abandon as Rick spun her around into a lively dance. After the first few turns and dips, Rick encouraged an excited crowd to join in.

  Deirdre and Sadie made their way over to the Christmas tree that towered over their party like a sentinel adorned in gold and white. From around the side of the tree stepped a tall, handsome freeman in a fine suit that hugged his muscular frame to perfection. Deirdre recognized him as one of Rick’s workers. He gave them both a deep bow, and extended his hand to Sadie. “May I have this dance, Miss Sadie?” he asked.

  Eyes widening, Sadie looked to Deirdre. Beneath the panic in her friend’s eyes, Deirdre saw a bright spark of interest. Frozen with indecision, Sadie wouldn’t look back at the man. Deirdre took her hand and placed it in his. “She would love to dance with you.”

  Sadie’s eyes pinched into slits that promised Deirdre would get an earful later. The slow smile that worked its way onto her lips as the tall man turned her onto the dance floor made it worth it.

  A man’s voice came from directly over Deirdre’s shoulder. “You’re a wonderful friend. It’s a thing of beauty to watch.”

  Pleasure shivered across her at the sound of that voice. She turned. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” she said.

  He grinned like a man with a secret, as he so often did. She loved that about him, among many, many other things. Presenting his hand with a flourish, he bowed deeply. Lovely, dark eyes stared at her from beneath the locks of black hair that didn’t reach his hair ribbon.

  “May I have this dance?”

  With a dip of her head, she placed her hand in his. “Mr. O’Leary, you may have every dance.”

  Only his eyes showed his surprise as he pulled her close and placed his other hand on her hip. A few deft turns and dodges of other dancers moved them around the side of the tree. No one save for them danced in the hidden corner. Everyone else wanted to see and be seen. Deirdre was glad for it. That was fine by her. The seclusion gave Deirdre naughty ideas. Absorbed in one another’s gaze and touch, they completed the dance and were well into another before either spoke.

  Kinan leaned scandalously close. “Tonight, I’ll strip you, lay you down beneath this tree, and give you your other present,” he whispered.

  She leaned close to the source of the warm breath that caressed her neck. “Other present?” she asked in a bit of a daze.

  He laughed but didn’t answer. When she got tired of waiting and prompted him, they both spoke at once. Deirdre laughed. “You go first,” she said.

  “No, ladies first.”

  “I’m no traditionalist, as you know,” she insisted.

  The slightest blush brightened his caramel skin. “I do indeed.”

  She waited patiently for several more steps. “I think I love you, Deirdre.”

  Though the words knocked the air from her lungs and sent her soaring over a cliff, she didn’t miss a step. One corner of her lips rose in a crooked smile. “You think?” She let him stutter and search for words for all of a second before having a little mercy on him. “Well, Kinan O’Leary, I know I love you.”

  Laughing, he pulled her close with the next spin. “You delicious, devilish woman. I know I love you, too.”

  With the next spin, he took them deeper into the corner between the tree and the wall. “I don’t want to steal Rick and Cat’s moment, but, I can’t wait to know.”

  He let go of her and stepped back. Out of instinct, she looked over her shoulder, but they were so far behind the tree, they were out of sight of the crowd. Thrills raced through her. Gaze drifting to his groin, she wondered if he intended to take her here. The shadows paired with his dark breeches made it impossible to tell how aroused he was. Unless she felt for herself. She started to step toward him but stopped when he removed something from within his vest and knelt down.

  In his fingers, he held a ring.

  “Deirdre Quinn, will you marry me? After an engagement length of your choosing, during which we explore our compatibility often and thoroughly.”

  She tried to speak and couldn’t. A hand flew to her mouth to cover the squeal that tried to escape in the place of words. Blinking back tears, she straightened and gathered her wits. “Kinan O’Leary, I would marry you this very moment.”

  His eyes closed tight and his head dipped for a moment before he stood. She held her hand out to him, fingers splayed. Two strands of gold wove together in a Celtic knot, cradling an emerald in their center. It fit perfectly on the ring finger of her left hand. When she was able to finally tear her eyes from the ring, she found him biting his lip as he looked down at her.

  “I hope you like it. This felt far more like it was right for you than a traditional band and diamond,” he said, a bit of a nervous shake in his voice.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled it in close to her heart. “It’s perfect, as are you.”

  Not caring if the entire wedding party saw, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Their bodies molded together in a most inappropriate—and perfect—way.

  Courting the Corporal

  Don’t miss another exciting installment in Heather McCorkle’s Emerald Belles series!

  May the road rise up to meet you . . .

  The Civil War has ended, but for Corporal Patrick “Rick” Fergusson the battle rages on. Still haunted by what he witnessed on the battlefield, the earnest Irishman is heading west, seeking only to be free of the past. His services are in high demand; wealthy East Coasters in need of escort clamor to join him on the journey. But one client, a beautiful lady named Cat, disturbs Rick’s newfound equilibrium.

  High society widow Catriona O’Brian is anxious to get to California, even if it means traveling with the handsome corporal who seems to dislike her so. Cat no longer seeks marriage; she has pinned all her hopes on making it to the west coast and starting her own winery. Between the elements, wild animals, and hostile natives, however, everything seems to be conspiring against her. Time and again, Rick comes to her rescue. And soon, the independent lass discovers that her biggest obstacle may be the longing of her own traitorous heart . . .

  Chapter 1

  The whispers frayed at her last raw nerve. With careful precision, Catriona set the delicate crystal wineglass down on the marble table. The dark red liquid didn’t so much as ripple. Such good wine was hard to come by; she didn’t want to waste it. Her fingers closed into a fist, her overly long nails biting into her palm. But it was a good pain, the kind that helped bring focus and calm so she didn’t do something foolish. As the founding board member of the organization, she couldn’t very well fly off the handle every time someone spoke ill of her beneath their breath.

  Gathered like a brood with their coiffed hairdos leaned togethe
r, half the board members cackled all manner of derogatory things about her. Their too-loud whispers about her being “new money” and “already out of mourning clothes” were clearly meant to be overheard. Over half the eyes in the packed tearoom rested on her because of it. Her skin crawled and her cheeks heated. The old Cat would have torn into them like a wildcat, but sadly, she hadn’t been that woman for a long time now.

  Beyond the women, muted sunlight filtering through the grapevine-framed window beckoned her. She wanted nothing more than for this meeting to be over so she could return to her garden where she could find a bit of serenity. A delicate hand came to rest on her shoulder just as a full skirt brushed against her own. Gentle though the touch was, it was all she could do not to flinch. The white lace glove could have belonged to anyone, but the almost hesitant hand within it could belong to only one person.

  “You pay them awful women no mind now, Catriona. They are jealous is all,” came a carefully measured feminine voice with just the barest hint of an African accent.

  Brown eyes as gentle as her voice gazed out of a lovely face nearly the color of obsidian to bathe Catriona in sympathy. She managed to force a tight-lipped smile.

  “Aye, but they are jealous for the wrong reasons,” she all but whispered. “But thank you for your kindness, Sadie. You are a treasure.” She patted the lady’s hand where it rested on her arm.

  Many of the ladies in the finely furnished sitting room shot frowns their way. Some likely because such familiarity with one’s servants was frowned upon. But then, even allowing Sadie to attend was frowned upon by most in the room. While the North had been the first to free their slaves, they still believed in separatism. Not Catriona, though, and on that she stood up to these hens. Sadie was a widow of a soldier of the 69th infantry, which gave her every right to attend these meetings. Besides, she was Catriona’s friend and for her, Catriona would withstand all the evil glares those hens could dish out.

  Lovely dark brows drawing together, Sadie waved a dismissive hand at the group of women. “The hens wouldn’t believe the truth if it slapped them upside their pampered backsides,” she said.

  At that image, a genuine smile turned up the corners of Catriona’s lips. However, the sight of a black-haired woman with skin the color of porcelain descending on the group of board members like a storm wiped the smile away. Trouble flowed around the immaculately dressed young woman like a cloak of dark foreboding.

  “Oh no,” Catriona murmured.

  Sadie laughed quietly. “Don’t you worry. Our Miss Deirdre there is going to give those ladies a taste of what they’ve got coming,” she said.

  Catriona groaned. “That is precisely what I am worried about.”

  All those coiffed heads raised at once, sharp eyes darting to Deirdre as if they could pin her back with their glares alone. But Catriona knew it would take far more than icy looks to stop Deirdre. Perhaps a battalion of Rebel troops.

  The pointed chin of her lovely, heart-shaped face lifted and her long lashes swept down over dark blue eyes that looked as black as her hair without the light hitting them. She focused the weight of her gaze upon the brood’s ringleader: a tall woman with a prominent nose. “To speak ill of your founder is to speak ill of the very manner in which you spend your free time.” Deirdre thrust that delicate-looking chin of hers in the direction of the double doors leading from the room. “The wind would most certainly be at your back should you choose to walk out that door.”

  All five women in the brood stiffened, eyes filling with disbelief as they widened. The worst of the lot stood her ground, angling her chin up so she could look down that prominent nose at Deirdre. “Our founder merely shocks us all by coming out of mourning so soon. Had any of us landed the catch of the century for a husband, we would have extended our mourning period,” she huffed.

  One of Deidre’s hands went to her hip. Catriona couldn’t help but notice it had curled into a fist.

  “Would that you had, then it could have been you who felt the snap of ‘the catch of the century’s’ jaws instead of my dear friend.”

  Gasps traveled through the brood. Gloved hands flung up to cover gaping mouths.

  “What exactly are you implying?” their ringleader demanded.

  Deirdre took a step forward. “That Michael O’Brian was a—”

  “Enough, Deirdre!” Catriona found her nerve and her voice at last.

  As much as she appreciated her friend defending her, the last thing she wanted was for these horrible women to know her darkest secrets. Deirdre’s mouth snapped shut and she spun away from the women on what Catriona knew to be a scandalously high heel—though it was well hidden beneath the hoop of her burgundy gown. Head held high, she pranced like a prized, gaited mare to Catriona’s side, spun back toward the women, and looped an arm through Catriona’s. With her friends to either side of her, they stood as a unified front against the brood. All eyes in the room turned to watch the drama unfold.

  Catriona took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “After today’s testimonies we are all a bit emotional. We need to keep focused on what we are here for, to support one another.” A bit of her old strength and confidence helped her voice carry throughout her five-hundred-square-foot tearoom.

  The head hen opened her mouth, but a door banged open, halting her words. Her friends’ arms withdrew from hers, allowing Catriona to turn. Dread made her movements slow. Little on this green Earth could cause her help to throw a door open with such carelessness. The last time it had happened, news of her husband’s death had followed. A young Irishwoman, her pale face flushed red, stood in the doorway, a hand clutched against her heart, her wide eyes seeking out Catriona.

  “Mrs. O’Brian, please pardon the intrusion, but your sister-in-law, Mrs. MacBranain, is here,” she gasped.

  Stomach churning with a mixture of joy and dread, Catriona dipped her head to the servant girl. “Thank you, Emily. Please make her comfortable in the sitting room. I shall be along shortly.” With that, she swallowed her emotions, ensured her expression was one of regret, and turned to face the waiting group of women.

  “Ladies, I fear I must adjourn this meeting of the Widows of the 69th as I have pressing business to attend to. Thank you all for coming. My servants will bring your wraps and cloaks along posthaste,” she announced.

  Murmurs spread throughout the women with the speed and relentlessness of the pox. Many, like the hen and her brood, didn’t even try to whisper their comments.

  “Isn’t that the former Miss O’Brian, Michael’s sister?” one woman said.

  “Yes, it is! I am sure of it. And she was so close to Michael. Whatever will she have to say about Catriona being out of mourning already?”

  Grinding her teeth against scathing replies, Catriona ushered the women out of the room and into the hallway where her servants were already bringing their belongings. Warm as it was outside this June afternoon, most of them hadn’t worn cloaks or shawls, but almost all had brought either a bag or a parasol along. Though she was near to exploding with anticipation, she played the good hostess and bid farewell to each woman as she departed, even the horrible brood. When the worst of them shot her a cold look, she had to remind herself that they had all lost husbands and many bad feelings were merely born from that. Still, women like her made Catriona wish she hadn’t opened the organization to all widows of soldiers of the 69th without thinking what that meant.

  A very unladylike snort came from Deirdre, who stepped up beside Catriona when the head hen—the last to leave, by no accident for sure—made a snappy remark. Flinging her long, black curls over her shoulder, Deirdre looked down her nose at the woman.

  “Hasten your step through the doorway now, Mrs. MacNeil, else your bustle may get closed in it,” Deirdre said in a wickedly sweet tone.

  Powdered brows rising into her carefully arranged brown bangs, Mrs. MacNeil gasped almost comically lou
d and stormed out of the parlor. Sadie giggled behind her gloved hand and Catriona groaned as she covered her face with one hand.

  “She’ll be impossible now,” Catriona said.

  Another snort sounded from Deirdre. “Because she was completely congenial before.”

  Catriona slapped playfully at her friend’s arm. “You know what I mean.”

  Looping an arm through hers, Deirdre walked with her and Sadie to the front door. “I do indeed. You take too much from those hens,” Deirdre said.

  Unable to argue, Catriona merely hugged her friends in turn as they waited for her servant to bring along Deirdre’s parasol. “I shall escort Deirdre home, stop by the market for ingredients for dinner, and return post-haste, unless you would like us to stay for moral support?” Sadie asked.

  Catriona smiled as she grasped her friend’s hand. “Thank you, but no. Ashlinn and I were friends, of a sort. I will be all right.”

  With a nod, Sadie stepped out onto the wide porch into the brilliant sunshine and opened her parasol. The clop of many hooves on cobblestones echoed into the house, accompanied by the din of voices that seemed constant in the heart of New York. What Catriona wouldn’t give for the quiet of the country home she had grown up in. Days like these made her long for seclusion, if only she could take her friends with her.

  Deirdre joined Sadie on the porch but turned back to give Catriona a stern look. “You send for us as soon as they are gone. I do not want you to be alone after such a visit.”

  She gave her a mirthless smile and nodded. “I shall. Now, off with you, so I can get this over with.”

  Waving, they descended the wide stairs leading up to Catriona’s grand home and started north down the sidewalk. A deep breath steeled her enough that she was able to turn away from the sight of her retreating friends and nod to her servant girl to close the door. The click of the mechanism securing the door behind her stirred a burning anxiety within her chest. Her hands fumbled with her green skirt. Of all the things she could have worn today, this was perhaps her most cheerful dress. Never had she regretted being out of mourning clothes so much as she did in that moment. Hiding it as best she could, she strode to the parlor doors and pulled them open without hesitation.