Because I was afraid
.
Killian bent and touched his lips to her cheek. He was a danger to her but he understood now that he could not run from it. If he spurned her, he might set in motion events which would endanger her, and he would not know what they were or where they struck. If she stayed within his reach, at least he would be able to defend her against whatever evils his nearness spawned.
“I have never feared danger,
acushla
,”
he whispered as
his lips moved to cover her mouth.
Dear God! Make me worthy of this love, make my arm strong enough to defend her, my heart courageous enough to join against all her foes.
Deirdre awakened to his kiss. She knew only a moment’s hesitation before welcoming the warmth of Killian’s mouth and the fiery heat of his tongue. And then he lifted his head, and his laughter, free and easy, filled her ears.
She waited in patient confusion for him to explain himself, but he did not, and when he looked down at her once more, she did not mind.
His eyes had never been more brilliant. The summer sky was not so vivid a blue. But it was his face, softened by happiness, that made her heart contract in love. The deep lines were erased by his happiness, the solemn man replaced by the carefree man of her imagining. “I love you.”
Killian’s expression became serious. “Marry me.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened. “Yes! Yes, oh, yes, yes!”
*
“But it is madness!”
Deirdre tightened her laced fingers as she watched Killian’s expression harden in anger. She had sent Fey on an errand in order that they might speak in private. She had been ashamed to the roots of her hair when she learned that the girl had slept on the floor outside their door while she and Killian shared the intimacy of the bed. Fey would not accept an apology or Killian’s offer of renting another room for her. She had slipped away in sullen silence, and, for the moment, Deirdre was grateful. She and Killian had much to discuss.
“I must do this,” she said quietly. “You may come with me or you may remain in France. I will go home to
Liscarrol and bury my father’s body in Irish soil.”
“You’ll never get through the English blockade. You have no papers. You’re Catholic. You may not even claim ownership of Liscarrol under the new Penal Laws. If you do not sell it to this Protestant cousin of yours, you will be
forced to forfeit Liscarrol, with nothing to show for your bravado.”
Deirdre shook her head. “I will not sell Liscarrol, nor will I lose it. I refuse to accept that.”
“Because your nursemaid has fits and ‘sees’ the link between you and some wretched lass a hundred years dead?”
Deirdre refused to be roused. “Because, my darling simpleton, because I will do what I must in order to save my home. My home, Killian. Can you not understand that?”
Killian’s face drained of its color. “Nae, lass, I cannot understand what I’ve never had. An orphan child calls no place home.”
Deirdre rose to her feet and grasped one of his hands in hers. “I did not mean that, and you know I did not. Please listen to me. I have sworn that I will wed no man but you. Liscarrol will be your home as well as mine.” She smiled a cajoling smile. “In truth, the moment we are wed, Liscarrol becomes yours. ’Tis my bride’s dowry to you.” A strange light came into his eyes, and his expression altered from one of anger to one of high speculation. “What is it, Killian?”
Killian shook his head, shuttering his eyes with lowered lids. “Why is this so important to you?”
Deirdre made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I cannot explain it. Have you never felt driven by needs that you cannot name?”
“Too often,” Killian answered.
“Then?”
“Does this mean so much to you that you are willing to thwart me, even postpone our marriage, that you may call Liscarrol your home once more?”
“I would rather
we
called Liscarrol home,” she answered lightly. Then, seeing that he was serious, she added, “Even if it meant we should never wed. I cannot explain, even to myself, but I must do this. I have waited for a man who would help me win and hold Liscarrol. That man is you.”
Killian stared hard at her. “Then I will help you. But
you must swear, and think well on this, you must swear to accept me in everything that I do. You must not question or forestall me in any matter, regardless of how bitter or distasteful you may find it.”
“You frighten me,” Deirdre answered.
“Aye, and I should. You will not like my methods, but I believe I know a way to save Liscarrol.”
“What is it?”
“Nae, lass, you must trust with blind faith, if you are brave enough.”
A gust of fear blew through Deirdre, a clammy gust that slid down her spine and eddied in her stomach. “You will not leave me?”
“Never that!” More kindly he said, “If you ever change your mind, if ever you wish to abandon the battle and return to France, I will cease at once and bring you back.”
Deirdre nodded. “Then join the battle, my love. I am ready.”
Killian looked down at her with a mingling of pity, tenderness, and horror at the bargain they had struck. Into “the valley of the shadow of death”; did she realize that that was what she asked for? No, she could not, not yet.
As for himself, once more he was called upon to champion another’s desires. She had a use for him. That was not the same as love. All his life, people had found uses for his talents. From the monastery to the battlefield to the duchesse’s bedroom, he had served wants not governed by his own needs. Something of his own—at last he had found it. But was loving Deirdre enough when her love for him was not enough for her?
He shook his head. He must not think like that. It would destroy everything. What Deirdre wanted he would stake his life to get for her. “We will begin by finding a priest, but before that I must make a call.”
“Upon the duchesse?” Deirdre asked.
Killian’s smile was tinged with irony. “But of course.”
“Do not sell your soul for me!” she called after him.
Killian did not answer, for that was, in part, exactly what he planned to do. He needed work, and the duchesse
had offered him the job of overseeing her smuggling operation out of Ireland. If the position was still open, he would find a way to persuade her to give it to him.
He shut his mind to the thought that he had lost once again the battle to govern his own future. Perhaps it was never meant to be.
The Return
All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.
—
Easter 1916
,
W. B. Yeats
A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe.
—
The Fairy Thorn
,
Samuel Ferguson
Chapter Sixteen
Deirdre awakened gasping for breath, her heart pounding heavily in her chest.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
The word galloped through her thoughts in accompaniment to her pulse. Cold beads of sweat rolled down her forehead and others trickled down her spine, pasting her night rail to her back. Icy fingers of dread lingered as she gazed about frantically for the sight of familiar objects in the gloom. Still caught in the nightmare’s grip, she recognized nothing. This was not her bedroom in Nantes, nor was it the room in Paris which she had rented for the past four weeks. The tiny enclosed space had no windows or light.
The sudden pitch and roll of the mattress beneath her made her grab the side of the bed with a squeal of fright. The room righted itself immediately and settled back into the shallow rise and fall that she had not been aware of until now.
She was aboard ship.
Memory came flooding back as she reached for flint and struck a spark to light the lantern that hung at the bunk’s head. The ship was a Dutch merchant vessel bound for the Irish city of Cork. The golden flame of the lantern spread light before the retreating darkness and struck a warm
gleam from the surface of the wide gold band on the third finger of her left hand.
Deirdre stared at her hand, happiness washing over her. That morning, she had stood before a priest and wed Killian Mainchin Aodh MacShane.
Unease wriggled across the surface of her new calm. How strange that when her happiness was at its peak, she should awake shuddering in the grip of a nightmare.
She gazed uneasily at the dark corners where shadows lay piled high. Was she being watched? The darkness seemed alive, alert to her very breath. She pulled the covers up over her and pressed herself back against the bulkhead.
The opening of the cabin portal made her heart skip a beat. When Killian emerged from behind it she scrambled from the bedding and launched herself into his arms.
“Mo cuishle!”
Killian exclaimed as he reached out to steady her, “you’re shivering.” He bent to catch a glimpse of her face. “What is it,
asthore
?
Did something frighten you?”
Deirdre lifted her head reluctantly but did not relax her grip upon his waist. She felt very foolish as she gazed up into his concerned face. Would he think her a child or, worse, unhappy, if she complained of nightmares? “Aye, something frightened me. You were not here.”
A frown of doubt furrowed Killian’s brow. “Truly? Nothing more?”
Deirdre hugged him closer until her cheek was once more against his shoulder. “Is that not enough? I am a bride but a day. Am I not to be skittish, even foolish, when it comes to the whereabouts of my husband?”
“Aye,
asthore
.
’Tis reason enough.” He was edgy himself, his mind full of the venture before them. In a few days, they would be docking in Ireland, where the future was far from certain.
Deirdre raised her head. “Why did you leave? Did I do wrong to fall asleep? After all, we did, we had…” She could not finish as a knowing look entered his eyes.
“Aye, we did and we had, lass, and never was a man more satisfied than I,” Killian finished for her, gentle
laughter in his voice. His arms closed around her, lifting her feet from the floor. “But then there’s a madness in my blood that never stays satisfied for long. I daresay you’ll never be safe from me when there are quiet hours before us and you blush so rosily and look quite pleased by my lustful ways.”
Happily embraced in his arms, she said, “Aye, I’m pleased by your lustful ways, as long as that lustiness is for me alone.”
The laughter disappeared from Killian’s face. “I’ve sworn my fidelity to you before God and man. Never you doubt it, lass. You must trust me or we’re lost.”
Deirdre gazed at his serious face and regretted her words. Over and over again during the weeks before their marriage he had looked at her solemnly and asked her if she had changed her mind. “Then you must trust me,” he always had said when she answered that she would wed him.
There were secrets between them. He would not tell her whence came the money for this voyage, nor would he tell her what he planned to do once they reached Cork. She did not know by what means he intended to secure Liscarrol for her. Despite that, she did trust him.
“I am jealous, ’tis a sad failing of mine, but trust you with my life I do,” she said and reached up to capture his lips with her own.
She felt the familiar surge of desire run through his body, the tremor of tensing muscles, and marveled that she had the power to so affect this enigmatic man. In the weeks between their pledge to marry and the wedding, they had lived as chastely as any respectably betrothed couple. Fey had kept her company and shared her room until the morning of the wedding. And so this, their wedding night, had been as full of anticipation as any nuptial night, or perhaps more so.
As he carried her to the narrow bunk they shared, she savored the intensity of her own desire. It throbbed deep within her, pulsing in her breasts and loins, a longing to be soothed and assuaged by the touch of his hands and body.
When he laid her back onto the mattress he hovered a
moment above her. “Is it too soon?” he asked. To her amazement he blushed, his skin darkening in the lantern light. “I do not mean to use you hard. We have made love once this night. Perhaps we should wait. It is late, you are—”
Deirdre cut short his apology with a fingertip against his lips. “It is late,
mo cuishle
.
We have made love once but not, I think, enough.” She saw the hesitation in his eyes and reached for his hand curved on her waist and brought it up to cover the fullness of her breast. The heat of his palm upon her skin made her nipple tighten and it rose under his touch. “Do you not believe me?” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.
Killian stared down into the dark green depths of her eyes and felt the astonishment of her desire to his very soul. She wanted him—nae, she desired him with an intensity that matched his own!
There had been times in his life when he wondered if he was capable of this burning of the flesh for a woman that his comrades-in-arms had spoken of often and fondly. Never before had he experienced this tormented longing, this inescapable need to be with a woman, to see her, hear her voice, and know that she was well. Only in his dreams had he known ecstasy and fear—until now.