“’Twasn’t so bad as all that. I turned my ankle a touch and haven’t been able to leave this house on account of I don’t walk terribly well yet.”
He rubbed at her hand with his. “How long’ve you been cooped up in here?”
“A week.” Those two words told Sean all he needed to know.
“An entire week? Why, you must be climbing the walls.”
Kieran answered before she could. “Not with that ankle, she isn’t.”
Maeve threw her brother a look of ill-amused scolding. For the sake of family harmony, Sean thought it best to wander off with Maeve for a time. Family harmony being quite important and all.
“Have you a riding horse?” he asked Kieran. “Or a carriage or wagon of some kind?”
“We’ve a hay cart,” Kieran said.
That’d do. Sean returned his gaze to Maeve’s lovely dark eyes. “Would you care to go for a quick ride with me in a very fine and fancy hay cart?”
“I’d be in your debt for ever and ever, Sean Kirkpatrick, if you could find a way to get me out of this house for even a moment.”
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Consider it done, lass.”
He stood once more and turned to face the Butler brothers, who were standing a piece behind Finley Donaghue, whom he’d nearly forgotten about. The company of a good woman can do that to a man— make him forget everyone around him.
“Point me in the direction of your barn, men. I’ve a cart and horse to make acquaintance with.”
Liam didn’t agree to the very reasonable request. “You stay here and keep our sister company— honorable company— and the three of us’ll bring the cart ’round.”
“Three?” Finley looked up at the man as though he’d marched his brain clear out of his head. “Why would it take three people to do something so simple?”
Kieran slipped a hand under Finley’s arm and pulled him out of his chair. “What we’ve undertaken, man, isn’t simple in the least.”
The two brothers all but marched their neighbor from the cottage.
“It seems Liam and Kieran have it in their minds to play matchmaker, Maeve.” Sean looked back at her, half expecting a look of horror. What he saw was pondering— deep and uncertain pondering.
“Does that frighten you?” she asked quietly.
“It does a bit,” he admitted. “But not enough to send me running back to Kilkenny.”
Maeve shrugged. “You’d likely get lost if you tried.”
“Troublesome woman,” he muttered.
“Admit you love the ribbing.”
He didn’t bother hiding his grin. “I’m beginning to.”
Some women blush elegantly and adorably, with perfect pink patches bringing a rosy hue to their complexion. Other women blush in a way that vaguely resembles the measles and makes a fellow worry that something’s terribly the matter. Maeve, for all her prettiness, did not fall in the first category.
“Where do you keep your coat and warm blankets?” Sean asked. “’Tis a mighty cold evening out there.”
“Blankets are in the chest against that wall.” She pointed across the room. “My coat is hanging on a nail in my bedroom.”
When Liam peeked his head inside once more, she had her coat on and the blankets were at the ready. “Your cart awaits,” he announced. “And we’ve a lantern for you. The evening’s growing dark already.”
Sean turned back to Maeve. “Can you walk at all, or do you need me to carry you?”
“I can walk a bit, but not far and not for long.”
“Well, then, if your brother hasn’t any objections, I’ll carry you out to the cart.”
Liam motioned for him to go ahead, something that, frankly, surprised Sean. He had two sisters of his own, and he and his brothers had been quite protective of them, perhaps overly so.
“You seem to have decided I’m trustworthy,” Sean said.
Right on cue a deep, rumbling bark sounded from just outside the door. “Rufus is going along,” Liam said.
So perhaps the Butler boys weren’t entirely decided on the matter of Sean’s worthiness. Still, they were allowing him to ride with their sister.
“Why is it only old Rufus is sent out as chaperone?” Sean asked. “I recall with perfect clarity that you’ve a few other hounds equally as large lurking about the place.”
Maeve’s slow-forming smile spoke of amusement. “Rufus is the meanest of the lot, but only when he’s alone. If all three came along, you might manage a bit of mischief before it’s noticed.”
“I doubt that. I’ve attempted to outrun them, you’ll remember.”
She shrugged a single shoulder. “I did say you would manage only ‘a bit’ of mischief.”
Sean bent down, slipping an arm under Maeve’s knees and another behind her back. She slid an arm around his neck, holding fast to him. After standing and making a few adjustments, he carried her to the door and outside to the waiting cart.
Blankets were situated. The lantern was hung on the cart’s hook. Rufus took up his position directly beside the cart, eyes narrowed at Sean.
“Where would you like to go?” Sean asked Maeve. “This outing is for you, after all.”
She thought a moment. “Could we just drive about for a time? I’m nearly desperate to see something other than the walls of this house.”
“I’ll go anywhere you like, Maeve Butler.”
It often happens that a man is caught quite by surprise when he realizes he’s grown unexpectedly attached to a woman.
Sean Kilpatrick was no exception. And mingled with that surprise was just a tiny bit of fear. For once a man begins to love a woman, his life is never quite whole again without her.
Chapter Six
“Seems to me Desmond is something of a dictator, seems to me.” Maeve didn’t at all like the idea of any person trying to “break” Sean. Anyone could see he was strong and independent. She liked him that way. She liked him very much, indeed.
Sean didn’t seem overly concerned, though. “He’ll ease off in time. ’Tis his way of weeding out those who aren’t willing to work.”
There wasn’t much to be seen as they drove along the paths that wove through the family farm. The sun had set, and the land was dark. But she was warm in her coat under the blanket he’d provided, and she was grateful for the fresh air and the joy of Sean’s company. Finley, though he was a dear family friend, hadn’t Sean’s knack for conversation nor his quick wit.
“Have you had a good first week at the stables?” she asked. “Or has it been terrible?”
“It’s been grand, actually. Such fine animals and the stables, Maeve.” He whistled appreciatively. “They’re quite the finest stables I’ve ever seen.”
“So is it the stables you like best or the horses?”
“The horses, to be sure. I’ve always liked animals. Except, perhaps, for Rufus there,” he added with a chuckle.
Upon hearing his name, Rufus let out a quick bark.
“I think Rufus likes you,” Maeve said.
“Oh, certainly. He’d like me for supper, is what he’d like.”
Maeve moved a bit closer to Sean, and not entirely because the night was growing colder. A week she’d been watching for him, hoping he’d come. And here he was, directly beside her, laughing and talking and lifting her spirits. Little wonder her heart was spinning about inside her.
“Which of the horses is your favorite?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “You don’t truly want to hear about my boring job, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I worked at a stable in Mayo, and m’ sisters never did want to hear a single word about what I did.”
She shook her head at his rather thickheaded logic. “They’re sisters. And sisters are quite different from”— she wasn’t sure what to call herself at that point— “from not-sisters.”
“Well, then, not-sister, I’d have to say that my favorite horse is a chestnut the M
arquess has named Chestnut.”
She laughed silently. “The Marquess is not particularly creative, it would seem. Now, why is it Chestnut is your favorite?”
They rode on that way for long, enjoyable minutes, the night growing darker and chillier. She learned about the animals in his care, about the family he’d left behind in Mayo. He asked after her work and her joys. He wished to know of her late parents and her childhood.
Theirs was such an easy and natural conversation that one might be excused for thinking they benefited from a long acquaintance. And, seeing how they slowly inched closer and closer together as they drove along, even they began to feel that there was more to the evening than two near-strangers getting acquainted.
Ireland, you must understand, is peopled first and foremost by dreamers. We’ll fight when we must, and we’re not entirely without brains. But the trait that most defines us is the heart of a poet, and it shows most in quiet moments like that one, when a hopeful sort of love is born.
The next week, Sean came by for Sunday supper, and again the week after that and the week after that. Desmond, it seemed, felt he’d earned one night a week to himself. The change might’ve also had something to do with the scones Maeve brought to old Desmond whilst emitting a few heartfelt sighs of regret over never being able to see her fine lad. Desmond was a tyrant— there was no denying that. But he was also a man without a wife and in firm possession of a sweet tooth, something Maeve had managed to discover by means of endless questioning of Liam, who had known the man for many years.
Whatever the reason for the hard-nosed stable master’s softening toward his newest stable hand, Maeve saw a great deal of Sean Kirkpatrick as Christmas approached. He came every Sunday without fail, no matter how miserable the weather, and she found herself watching the front windows all the day long, praying he’d come a bit early.
On his sixth Sunday visiting, when the other lads moved from the small kitchen, Sean remained behind. “I can’t promise to be very good at it, but I’m hoping to help with the dishes.”
“You’re hoping? Were you thinking I’d say no?” Even if he proved an absolute dolt at washing dishes, she wasn’t about to turn him away.
“I warn you, I’ve little experience with it.”
“I’d wager you’re a fast learner.” She tossed a large, dry rag in his direction. “I’ll wash. You dry.”
He was a natural-born dryer, which was rather like saying one was a natural-born breather. Drying dishes didn’t require much skill.
“Donaghue is here every week, I’ve noticed,” he said as he dried a pewter plate. “Does he come around often?”
“Finley’s been visiting since he was a lad, back when all of our parents were yet living.”
“An old friend, then?” Sean slid the dried dish into the age-worn cabinet.
“Quite old.”
Sean raised an ebony eyebrow. “He’s my age, you realize. That’s not so very old.”
She scrubbed a bit of potato off the large serving pot in which she’d made the night’s coddle. “He was always Liam’s friend. I suppose that makes him seem older. Almost like another brother.”
“Is that what he is to you?”
In that moment, with an intuition most women are born with, Maeve pieced something together. Despite all of the time they’d spent together, despite her tendency to snuggle close to him when he drove her about in the cart, and despite the rather obvious cow eyes she made at him across the table every Sunday evening, Sean was jealous.
Of Finley Donaghue, of all people.
The kind thing to do would have been to put his mind at ease, to swear reassurances and speak sweet words of tenderness. But the wise thing was to let him discover her feelings for himself. If their pattern became her having to swear up and down to her feelings anytime life gave him reason to wonder even a little bit, ’twould be a long and tiresome life indeed.
She let him chew on his thoughts as they finished the last of the washing. Sean didn’t grow angry or demand answers. He made no further comment, really, only stood with a furrowed brow and a downturn to his lips that clearly said, I’m pondering where I stand with a woman, and I’m not terribly keen on the answers I’m formulating.
So Maeve, being a font of compassion as well as a believer in the importance of a bit of humor, decided to help him along a bit. “Did you know that Finley has nearly five hundred head of sheep, a surprising number of which have black wool? Did you further know that he’s at his wit’s end over a particular weed growing in his back pasture? His wit’s end, Sean.”
His confusion only grew. She managed not to laugh, but ’twas a close-run thing.
“And can you guess how it is that I know he’s at his wit’s end over the weeds in his back pasture?” she pressed. “Because he told me. He has, in fact, told me several times a week for the past three years. Weeds, Sean. Weeds. For three years.” She took the rag from him and hung it over the back of a chair. “What was the last topic you and I chose to talk about?”
“We’ve covered so many in just the past quarter-hour.”
Maeve stepped closer to him and set her hands on both of his arms. “Precisely, you daft man. You are the one I enjoy talking with, the one who stays behind to help me rather than taking his leisure at the fire with my brothers.” She slid her hands up his arms and to his shoulders. “You are the one for whom I brave cold winter nights simply to snatch a moment of your company. Finley comes around often, as he’s a neighbor and a good friend of Liam’s. But you, Sean Kirkpatrick”— she wrapped her arms around his neck— “are the one I watch for and wait for and hope will someday come by more often than once a week.”
His arms slid around her waist, and he pulled her close against him. “I’d be here every day if Desmond allowed it.”
“Because you like me?”
“Because Finley, apparently, needs help with his weeds.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder, settling into the warmth of his embrace. A woman could grow quite used to such a thing. “Christmas is this week.”
“Is it? Didn’t we just have Christmas a year ago?” His hand rubbed a slow, lazy circle on her back.
“Will Desmond be allowing you the day, or are you to be slaving away on Christmas, as well?”
His head rested atop of hers. Her heart leaped about. She held more tightly to him.
“We’re to have Christmas evening to ourselves,” he said.
Just what she’d hoped he would say. “Will you come have Christmas supper with us?”
“I’d love to.”
She pulled back the tiniest bit, looking into his face. “Do you promise?”
His lopsided smile made another appearance. “When have you ever known me to turn down a meal?”
But she wasn’t teasing in that moment. “Do you promise to come for Christmas? It’s all I want, the only gift I’m hoping for. If you promise you’ll come, I know you will. You’d never go back on your word, not to me.”
His eyes filled with sincerity. “I solemnly swear to you, I’ll be here.”
“I’ll be watching at the window.”
Sean lowered his head. Instinct told her she was about to be kissed. And kissing instincts are seldom wrong.
Their lips drew ever closer. And closer. Her pulse pounded in her ears and neck. Another inch, perhaps less, and his lips would be on hers.
A rumbling bark filled the kitchen. Maeve and Sean both froze on the spot.
“What is Rufus doing inside the house?” she asked.
“Exactly what he’s supposed to do,” Liam called from the other room.
Sean grinned. “I believe that means the time’s come for me to go.”
Disappointment swept over her, tempered only by the knowledge that he’d be back in only a few days. As she watched him disappear into the cold, dark night, she reminded herself of that. She would see him again on Christmas Day.
He’d promised.
Chapter Seven
Christmas D
ay is rather less than joyful when one is working for the privileged upper classes. For, no matter the promises made of half-days and minimal duties, should the family one works for decide that Christmas Day would be utterly perfect for an unplanned jaunt through the countryside, someone must remain behind to receive the return of the carriage and horses. And that someone is then forced to spend his Christmas afternoon and evening pacing the length of the stable yard, contemplating the hurt and disappointment no doubt felt by a certain Irishwoman down the road.
I promised her. I solemnly swore. And Sean, being a decent sort of fellow, didn’t care to be breaking a promise to any person, least of all his Maeve. But what could he do? Leaving would have cost him his job. Losing his job would have meant leaving Kilkenny and Maeve entirely.
There was no way of telling Maeve what had happened. She would think he’d broken his word.
“If you promise you’ll come, I know you will,” she’d said.
“You’d never go back on your word,” she’d said.
“I never want to see you again,” she’d say next.
He couldn’t bear the thought. But what could he do? He was every bit as stuck as he’d been the day they’d first met. He paced back to the arched entryway to the stable yard and set his eyes on the castle across the way.
How many of the Marquess’s servants were required to spend their Christmas away from loved ones? Likely quite a few. They had an advantage over him, however. He was spending his Christmas with a stable full of horses, not another person in sight. They, at least, had each other.
He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and trudged his way past a long row of horse stalls, eyes focused on the floor ahead of him. “Maeve will have my neck, assuming she agrees to see me again.”
Sean wasn’t an entirely unreasonable man, and the more logical part of him knew he was likely making more of his Christmas absence than need be. But he was also a man in love, which has a tendency to override one’s ability to think clearly. He didn’t want to disappoint Maeve, and neither did he wish to spend the holiday away from her. Indeed, he was growing ever more convinced that he never wanted to spend another day away from her.
Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 15) Page 17
