The Irish Rogue

by Judith E. French

  The click of the door latch brought her wide-awake. Startled, she looked around the empty room. Then, she blinked and rubbed her eyes, struggling to shed the memories of her dream. The smell of lilacs seemed stronger than ever.

  Anne moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and smiled lazily as fancies of her phantom lover faded. She glanced at the closed door, and then back to the pool of sunlight that draped her bed in gilded splendor. No more than a quarter hour could have passed since she'd nestled in the soft folds of the featherbed. She chuckled at the foolish notion that the kiss had been more than a dream.

  Until she found the single sprig of purple lilac lying on her pillow.

  * * *

  Several hours later, O'Ryan set his full wineglass on the Irish hunt table and wandered through the open doorway into the formal garden behind the house. The music and laughter of the merrymakers faded as he strolled under an arch of lilacs that framed the gateway to a high boxwood maze.

  The moon was full, the brick pathways illuminated with a pearly glow. Here and there, fireflies sparkled like tiny flittering fairies. The air smelled of lilacs and apple blossoms.

  "Annie?"

  "I'm here," she answered from the shadows.

  He ducked his head to avoid the overhanging foliage and moved to her side. "It's very warm for April," he said. "At home, peat fires would still burn on the hearths." He trailed a finger intimately down her bare arm.

  Trembling, she pulled away. "Here, too—usually. We had an early spring." Her words came in short rushes. "But it's nearly May." Retreating a safe distance, she sank gracefully onto a bench.

  He sat beside her, close enough to feel a fold of her silk gown brush against his hand. "Why are you out here instead of enjoying the dancing?" He wanted her where he could see her... where he could watch the sway of her skirts and the tilt of her head.

  "Did you kiss me earlier? In the bedroom, this afternoon?"

  "Kiss you?" he teased. She intrigued him, this wife of his. She was so different from Kathleen, fair where Kathleen was dark, but every bit as high-spirited. And Anne affected him in ways that Kathleen never could.

  "I think you did."

  He laughed. "Perhaps you were dreaming."

  She didn't answer, but the silence between them was affable rather than strained. He liked sitting here beside her and gazing back at the manor with the moon shining off the roof and candlelight spilling through the multipaned windows.

  Gentleman's Folly wasn't nearly as grand as Cuchulainn, where he had grown up, but it was a gracious house, and O'Ryan felt instantly at home here. It had been a long time since he'd been accepted so easily by strangers. As an Irishman, he hadn't expected to be welcomed by Anne's friends and neighbors. Their courtesy and openness was a shock after the reception he'd had in Philadelphia. Most Americans he'd met before he came here acted as though they despised the Irish immigrants.

  "Someone left lilacs on my pillow," she murmured.

  "Do you like to be kissed, Annie? I think you do."

  "What do you think of our neighbors?" Anne asked, ignoring his question.

  "You have a mouth made for kissing."

  Her soft, slow Maryland voice was throaty. It made him want to take off his coat and lay it on the ground. It made him wonder what she would do if he pushed her back against the thick green grass and covered her with his body. He wanted to feel her under him, feel her silky skin against his, free her breasts and taste them to see if they were as sweet as her lips.

  "Our friends like you," she continued. "You're quite charming when you want to be, even if you are extraordinarily lucky at whist."

  "I've always been very lucky at cards and unlucky in love." Moonlight dusted the curve of her chin and the crown of her head with silver. Her high-waisted silk dress was cut simply with a deep vee neck that showed off her shapely bosom and tiny, puffed sleeves that revealed more of her arms than they concealed.

  He caught her hand and lifted it, turning her palm to kiss the throbbing pulse at her wrist and the underside of her elbow.

  "Michael. Don't," she protested. But she didn't pull away, and he took her in his arms.

  She placed her hands against his chest. "This will only complicate things between us," she murmured. "Neither of us need that, considering our bargain. There's no reason why we shouldn't make the best of this time together."

  "My feelings exactly," he replied as he kissed her.

  She drew back as if his mouth was a burning coal. "I didn't mean that way," she stammered. "As friends."

  Every instinct screamed for him to continue his assault on her shaky defenses. Her words told him no, but her body...

  He fought to keep his emotions under control. "We are husband and wife under God. Why shouldn't we—?"

  "No." She shook her head, and he could feel her alarm. "It's all happened too fast. I—There's the baby to think of, and... Please, Michael, cannot we be friends?"

  "Michael, is it?" He wanted her, God, how he wanted her, but it was too soon. She was no lightskirts to be wooed and won on a whim. If she came to him willingly, something told him it would be worth the wait.

  "O'Ryan, then."

  "I like the sound of my name on your lips, Annie. And if we are friends, I suppose that's more than most married couples achieve in a lifetime."

  "Not so for my parents," she said. "Theirs was a love match. They never argued."

  "Are you certain, or are you seeing them through a child's eyes? Mine never went a day without exchanging bitter words."

  "I'm sorry for that."

  O'Ryan shrugged. "My mother was a great lady and very beautiful. Wherever she went, heads turned. She had her choice of husbands, some of them titled."

  "Didn't your parents care for each other when they married?"

  "Yes... at first. Or they thought they did. The trouble came when my father lost his money in an ill-fated investment venture. She never forgave him for it."

  "It must have been difficult for her."

  "It was. She began as the pampered bride of a well-to-do man and ended her life... in much-reduced circumstances."

  "I'm sorry," Anne said. "Is your father still living?"

  "No, he died shortly before she did." He wouldn't tell her how his father had taken his own life rather than face debts he couldn't pay. It was one more thing in his past O'Ryan didn't care to dwell on. "The music is beginning again. Shall we go back inside?"

  "You're right," she agreed. "I will be happy to dance with you, Mr. O'Ryan."

  He could hear the amusement in her voice. "Is there something wrong with Michael?"

  "No. Actually, I was wondering how I could—"

  "Make a nickname of it, as I do Annie?"

  "Exactly." They laughed together.

  "You should always laugh," he said as he took her arm and led her under the lilac arch. "And you should always wear green. It's your color."

  * * *

  Anne didn't intend to dance more than a set or two. It felt very strange to be led through the steps of a country reel by O'Ryan. She had always loved to dance, and they moved through the steps as though they had had many years' experience as partners.

  The warm night—or was it O'Ryan's hand on her waist, or thoughts of that mysterious kiss?—soon had her giddy with excitement. As bright notes filled the room and echoed through the hall, she passed from partner to partner, always returning to the big Irishman.

  After nearly an hour, she paused to catch her breath while O'Ryan went in search of a cup of sweet cider to quench her thirst.

  Her father joined her. "You're having a good time, puss," he said, giving her fingers a squeeze. "I'm glad. I only wish your mother could be here to celebrate with us."

  "It is odd," she replied. "I couldn't wait to get to Philadelphia. Gentleman's Folly seemed so dull. But I missed it terribly, and I missed you." Now the thought that she had risked everything for the likes of Stephen Preston was repugnant to her. She couldn't understand her attraction for th
e cad or why she had allowed him the liberties she had. Her involvement with Stephen had happened an eternity ago, as though she had been another woman... a much younger and sillier woman. "Gentleman's Folly is the most beautiful place on earth, Papa," she said. "I love it, almost as much as I love you. And I'll never leave either of you again. I promise."

  "Your mother loved this land, pet. God, but I miss her."

  O'Ryan returned with her drink, and he and her father fell into easy conversation. "...a talented woodworker," her husband was saying. "Cleary is both carpenter and wheelwright, and he possesses the skill to fashion plain furniture. I notice you employ many workmen here on Gentleman's Folly. Do you have need of another craftsman?"

  Her father shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. Abraham does all our carpentry."

  "Abraham is the man who met us at the dock on our arrival," Anne explained.

  "I'll ask around to see if any of my neighbors need a wheelwright," her father said. "And there's always Talbot Courthouse—Easton some are calling it. The town's growing. Your man may find work there."

  "Cleary is honest and skilled at his trade."

  "It is a pity," Anne said, "that there are so many immigrants and so few here that wish to hire them. Mr. Cleary seemed a decent man. I understand he has a family to provide for."

  "You met him, Anne?" Her father pursed his lips. "It's true that there are scarce jobs for the Irish. Most on the Eastern Shore would rather have people they know working for them."

  "Slaves, you mean?" O'Ryan said. He was standing behind her so that she was able to nudge him without letting Papa see. She hoped he wasn't about to start an argument about the use of slaves on Gentleman's Folly. "I was impressed with Abraham," he continued. "He seems intelligent."

  "He is," her father agreed. "He's one of the few slaves not born on the plantation. I bought him along with three field hands at an auction downstate about five years ago."

  "We all like Abraham," Anne put in. "He's one of our best workers. And Papa treats him very well. He even allowed him to marry a woman from Greensboro Hall."

  "His wife is a slave as well?" O'Ryan asked.

  Her father nodded. "Ivy's a house servant."

  "Here?"

  "No," Anne explained. "Ivy belongs to Nathaniel's mother. But Papa allows Abraham to visit her on Sundays, and sometimes she's permitted to come here on holidays."

  "I see," O'Ryan replied.

  Anne could tell that he didn't, but she didn't want to begin another fuss with him. Instead, she half turned and touched his arm. "The music's beginning again," she said. "Shall we—?"

  O'Ryan took the hint. "Yes, if you'll excuse us, James," he said.

  They danced the next two sets together. The parlor was a swirl of candlelight, bright gowns, laughter, and brighter music. For a little while Anne could forget what she'd done in Philadelphia, forget the lies, forget her worries about Papa's health, and pretend that all was as it should be.

  The musicians finished the tune with a flourish and everyone clapped. Servants passed among the guests with trays of wine, ale, and cider. "I thought Irishmen were staunch drinkers," she whispered to O'Ryan when he refused anything stronger than cider.

  "Don't believe all you hear of us," he said. "And I promise not to believe that all Americans paint their faces like Indians and eat their beef raw."

  She laughed. "If I had to find a husband on the dock," she murmured. "I could have done worse than you."

  "You might have," he agreed, then nodded his head politely as Sibyl Greensboro swooped down on them with her daughter-in-law Susannah in tow.

  "I must know more about your mystery man," cried the old woman. "Where exactly in Ireland are you from? And who is your family?"

  "I will be delighted to tell you all, madam," O'Ryan said, "if you will do me the honor of this next dance." He winked at Anne. "With your permission?"

  "Of course," Anne replied.

  Sibyl sputtered with delight as O'Ryan took her hand and led her into the next set. Susannah raised an ivory lace fan to her lips and stifled a giggle. "I don't know where you found him," she whispered to Anne, "but I wish he'd keep her occupied all evening."

  James Davis joined the two young ladies. "Do you think I might have one dance with my daughter?" he asked.

  "You've been dancing all evening, Papa," Anne hedged. "I'm feeling a little—"

  "Nonsense, I'm fit as I ever was, and this is your wedding celebration." He lifted Anne's gloved hand to his lips. "Be happy, child. It's all I ever wanted for you."

  "I am happy, Papa."

  "Then indulge an old man and let him dance with the most beautiful lady in Maryland."

  Knowing defeat when she saw it, Anne sighed and let her father guide her to join the others.

  * * *

  Ivy replenished the pitchers of sweet cider and lemonade, then cleared away the dirty glasses. She carried them to the kitchen and put them on the table near the dry sink. One of the twins was washing dishes and silverware while Grace arranged tiny pastries on a silver platter. Ivy wiped her clean hands on her apron and was preparing to slice a pan of gingerbread when Aunt Kessie motioned her to the back door.

  "Someone out there wants to see you," the housekeeper said.

  Ivy looked hesitant.

  "It's all right, I've plenty of hands to help. You go and spend an hour with your man."

  Ivy whisked off her apron, ran fingers through her close-cropped hair, and murmured a quick thank-you as she hurried outside. She'd taken only a few steps across the back porch when strong hands grasped her around the waist and lifted her high.

  "Abraham!" she cried. "Stop such nonsense. You—"

  He cut off her token protests with a kiss. "Missed you fierce," he said thickly, then kissed her again.

  She hugged him, inhaling deeply of his familiar scent, feeling the smooth texture of his skin. "I missed you, too. I thought Miss Sibyl meant to stay a month visiting her sister in Chestertown."

  "There's dancing at the quarters." Abraham eased his grip enough so that she could draw breath. "There's a bonfire and a pig roasting on the spit. Do you—?"

  "Are you hungry?" she asked him softly. "Or would you rather—?"

  "How long have we got?"

  "Miss Kessie said an hour." She slipped him three coins from her skirt pocket. "I earned that by selling fish I caught in the Chester River last Sunday. Put it in the jar."

  "I will." He kissed her neck, soft moth-wing caresses that made her heart beat faster.

  "How much do we have now?" It was hard to think about the freedom savings, with Abraham's big hands on her and her breath coming quick.

  Afua came from the well with a bucket of water. "You best stop this foolin' around and get busy."

  "I've a right," Ivy protested. "Miss Kessie gave me leave."

  "Leave, is it? Leavin' us to do all the work." Afua set the bucket on the floor. "Guess I'd rather be doin' such instead of fetchin' water."

  Ignoring Afua, Ivy followed Abraham off the porch and down the brick path past the summer kitchen and the smokehouse.

  The tinkle of the harpsichord and the rhythmic beat of a drum mingled in the night air as the two ran to Abraham's shop. Inside, a ladder led to a single room on the second floor. Ivy waited impatiently as Abraham lit a candle.

  His room was as neat as always, with a small, sturdy table, two chairs, wooden pegs along one wall for his two changes of clothing, a chest of tools, and a bed covered with a patched and faded coverlet. A leather-covered Bible lay at the center of the table. A pair of old riding boots stood beneath the clothes pegs. Beside the low bed a brightly colored rag rug—the one she'd made for him—adorned the spotless floorboards.

  "Welcome home, wife," he said to her, and opened his arms.

  Shyly, she went to him, part of her bitter that they had so little time together, most of her wanting to make the most of this precious hour. "Will it always be like this?" she asked him. "Will we ever have a place when I can cook your breakfa
st and sew your clothes? Where we can watch our babies sleep in that cradle you're goin' to make for me?"

  "Shhh," he said, shaking his head. "Not tonight, Ivy. No talk of babies tonight."

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking how badly she wanted to give him a son with skin the color of ripe blackberries and lion eyes. Wondering if they could hold to his plan of not having children so long as they were slaves... "Oh, Abraham," she whispered.

  Then he kissed away the tears and led her to the bed. "I want you," he said. "Want you so bad."

  "Blow out the candle," she begged him. "You know I like it best without the light." Silently, he left her, padding to the table to please her. And then he was back and it was just the two of them with the clean sheets beneath and heaven above. And for a little while, Ivy could forget everything but how lucky she was to have him for her husband.

  Chapter 8

  The following day was overcast, with a promise of rain from the west. O'Ryan yawned as Abraham led two horses to the gate. He'd gotten little sleep in the hours between the end of the party and dawn. Most of the guests had remained for the night, and Anne had shared their bedchamber with Susannah Greensboro and a maid. O'Ryan had slept in an attic room with Nathaniel and his brothers-in-law.

  This morning, O'Ryan was riding to Oxford to send a letter to Sean and another to Kathleen in Ireland. He'd written both before breakfast, assuring them that he'd not forgotten his promises. Each envelope contained money that he'd won at cards the night before. He would have preferred sending bank notes or letters of credit, but he didn't have enough to open an account. He hoped the cash would arrive safely.

  A few drops of rain fell as O'Ryan and Abraham rode down the lane and turned north onto the Oxford road. "Sorry to have to drag you out on a day like this," O'Ryan said, turning in the saddle to look back at the slave.

  "No trouble, sir." Abraham kept his eyes lowered, but his spine was straight, his strong fingers tight on the reins.

  "My name's O'Ryan, and since I've never been knighted, I'd just as soon you called me that."

  The black man glanced up with guarded eyes. "Reckon not, Mr. O'Ryan. There's ways and then there's ways. Maybe you don't have too many of my kind where you come from."